Hear Me Roar: The Lannisters in the War of the Ring
by willywalkerstrikesagain
Summary: A magical event brings the Westerlands and it's rulers House Lannister to Middle Earth just before the War of the Ring. Will the Lannisters find what little good is in their hearts or will they be corrupted into darkness and doom the world of men?
1. I Gandalf the Grey

**Hear Me Roar: The History of House Lannister in the War of the Ring**

 **Gandalf the Grey**

Gandalf was old enough to know firsthand that the white city of Minas Tirith had seen better days. It might better be called the grey city now, the light rain that fell left the normally pristine stone walls darkened slightly. The normally crowded streets were empty save for a few die hard merchants huddled under the overhangs of their stalls, halfheartedly calling out to the wizard as he walked by. Normally Gandalf would have humored them, perhaps purchased an apple or a loaf of bread and innocently questioned them about the goings on of the city. Gandalf had long ago learned that the spirit of a people was far more important than steel when it came to resisting the will of the Enemy, so he kept himself informed of the mood and fortunes of the Men of the West when he could.

Today there was no time for that, Denethor, Steward of the Throne of Gondor, had personally summoned him regarding the rumors that had reached the city from the West. Gandalf had himself heard a few, tales of a great army invading from the West, then it was a the Valar clothed in gold come to strike down Mordor, or perhaps it was the forces of Arnor in the North come to aid their brethren. Given the scattered nature of the rumors and the fact that few refugees or victims of war had come with them, Gandalf had elected to continue his pursuit of information regarding the ring that now resided in a certain hole in Bag End until more information could be gathered. The summons from the Steward had come as a surprise to him, and he wondered if perhaps he would finally find the truth in the rumors.

If the exterior of the city was wet and grey from the rain the throne room of the Kingdom of Gondor retained it's splendor. Gandalf couldn't help but feel proud of mankind's achievements when he walked through those doors, when he doubted his mission he remembered this and knew that the world of man was worth preserving. He was less happy with Denethor, son of Ecthelion, a man who had often proved far too proud and stubborn for Gandalf's taste, but who still lead Gondor in these dark times nonetheless.

"So the wizard shows himself, I was beginning to wonder if you would see me at all during this latest visit to our kingdom," Denethor said. Gandalf saw that Faramir and Boromir were at his sides as the three stood around a table which had a map of Gondor and it's surrounding realms laid over it.  
Gandalf took in the sight a moment before speaking, "I see you are planning some movement against the enemy… it must be something truly grand to require both the captain of the White Tower _and_ the Rangers of Ithilien," he said, nodding at each of the brothers in turn.

Boromir's face was grim, "we march to the West Mithrandir, Anfalas has raised a great host and has risen in rebellion against the throne of Gondor."  
Gandalf was shocked, committing Gondor's armies to the west was suicide, Sauron would strike like a hammer and scatter the men of the West with ease. "Anfalas is sparsely populated, what hosts could be raised from there? Could this be mere banditry?"

Now Faramir shook his head, "I'm afraid not, I have spoken to men I trust and whoever these people are they have erected strongholds, plowed fields, and built towns seemingly overnight." He paused again as if doubting the words he'd just spoken, "Whoever these men are there are a great deal of them… one scout reported seeing an army of at least ten thousand gathering on the edge of 'their' lands."

Gandalf thought for a moment before turning to Denethor, "surely even in these dark times Gondor holds enough sway to know when _castles_ are being built upon her land? They cannot have simply appeared…"

Denethor sighed, "That was what we hoped you could tell us. If the world of the mystical provides no solutions I am afraid we may be forced to deal with this by the sword." He handed Gandalf a sheet of paper. "A man bearing a seal in the shape of a Lion brought this to me yesterday. He claims to be an emissary of the lord of these men, Tywin of House Lannister." Gandalf took the letter, noting the broken wax seal stamped with a lion.

 _To Lord Denethor, Steward of the Throne of Gondor  
I, Lord Tywin Lannister, greet your grace in the name of House Lannister of the Westerlands and all of it's people's and on behalf of King Joffrey Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. Though we know not the Kingdom of Gondor many travelers which we have questioned assure us of her greatness, and by this questioning we have determined that you have likely not heard of the Seven Kingdoms, though the Westerlands can attest to at least a part of their splendor. How we find ourselves here has puzzled many of our learned men, it seems that almost the entirety of the Westerlands has found itself in this new world of strange peoples and places unknown to us. Though we wish to establish peaceful relations know that the sigil of House Lannister is the lion, and like the lion we have claws and those who would threaten us will feel them. I write to request an envoy of the Throne of Gondor be sent to guarantee the safe passage of my son to your city of Minas Tirith to establish formal relations. The man I sent to carry this letter has with him a raven which can return your immediate response to me so that I can alert my sworn lords and their knights of your envoy's approach and ensure he is afforded the proper courtesies. I hope this is the beginning of a long and fruitful relationship.  
Hear Me Roar  
Lord Tywin Lannister, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands_

Gandalf was unsure what to think, clearly this Tywin was confident in his strength, but how strong was he really? What were his true intentions? Did he serve Sauron? Did he even know of Sauron?

Boromir interrupted his thoughts, "we must move quickly before this man has time to muster his full strength, a few battles and he will be broken."

"No," Faramir interrupted, "we should take this Lord Tywin up on his offer and at least see what we are dealing with." He looked around at the gathered faces, "One of the most important parts of ranging is knowing the lay of the land and knowing how many enemies you face, I can't support rushing into this unprepared."

Denethor sighed, "and what would you counsel, Gandalf the Grey?" he spat the Wizards name.  
"Sending an envoy to this man seems… reasonable, from the letter it sounds as though these men of the Westerlands are as confused as we are." Gandalf stroked his beard thoughtfully, "perhaps their presence is just the boon Gondor has been looking for."

Denethor shrugged, "Very well, Faramir, gather no more than a dozen men, we cannot spare even that truthfully, and go to these men and determine their nature and intent." He looked at Gandalf, "and I suppose you would accompany him?"

Gandalf thought for a moment, it was vital that war not come to Gondor now, and his presence might prevent it. Traveling with Faramir and his rangers would be quick and light, it would not take long to complete this mission and return to researching the nature of the ring. "Yes I will go, with your leave of course."  
Denethor half smirked, they both knew Gandalf didn't truly seek the leave of the steward to do anything. "Granted of course," he sneered.  
Sensing that the course had been laid Boromir took his leave, "I will make the arrangements with the quartermasters to gather supplies in case we should need to march west, I wish you luck brother, Mithrandir," he nodded to Gandalf before exiting the room.

Gandalf furrowed his brow as he left the throne room, though he had few material possessions some things would need to be attended to before leaving. _Hear Me Roar, what manner of men are they?_ The rain from before had become a full thunderstorm now, _Hear Me Roar…_ he thought again, the sky roared in answer.

 **A/N:** The premise is that the Westerlands from A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones are swapped with the westernmost coast of Gondor in 3017 T.A. I chose the place because it's sparsely populated, unimportant to the original Lord of the Rings story, and it's reasonably close to all the major factions involved in the war. In addition Tyrion, Bronn, and the Mountain clans have all been returned, as have all the people of the Westerlands plus their spouses, children, etc. This story was originally published on the forums.

A few other notes for everyone, this starts about a year out from the events of Fellowship of the Ring. The Song of Ice and Fire (Game of Thrones) characters are from just after the War of the Five Kings has started. As for character descriptions the story is a hodge-podge of whichever ones I liked the most from the various movies, books, and tv shows we're discussing here. Hence we've got the Sauron of the movies, the Tywin of the books, the Tyrion of the tv show, and the Mouth of Sauron from the old 70's animated movie. I hope you all enjoy.

since links aren't allowed I'll just say a map of this scenario (generously made by Kilerog, an forum user) can be found at imgur/(insert here)e5FIYyh just put in a . com at the (insert here)


	2. II The Old Lion

**II.  
The Old Lion**

Tywin Lannister looked over the ramparts of the Golden Tooth to the camped army below. For two weeks now they had waited here without orders, the men were growing restless. Tywin had always believed in decisive action, but this… he looked the other direction at the plains that should have been the Riverlands, the nation that was apparently called "Gondor." Tywin had never heard of such a realm, not even from the most far traveled traders of Lannisport. Ravens from Crakehall and Silverhall had arrived saying that the Reach had disappeared as well, leaving only ocean. In spite of himself Tywin let a shiver creep down his spine, they were not in Westeros.

"Something troubles you father?" his son Jaime asked. Tywin turned to see his children, Jaime, the tall handsome swordsman of renown, and a little behind him the imp who had taken Joanna, Tyrion. Somehow the two of them had ended up here on that day… he let himself drift back a moment. They had been in the Riverlands to punish the Tully's for their lack of respect. Jaime and his host had just joined them and word had reached him that his grandson had executed Lord Stark in King's Landing… war with the North had become a certainty. Then the trumpets had sounded, Tywin had at first thought they announced some hidden charge and had drawn his sword, preparing to rally his men… but then he saw the sky. Though it had been day suddenly the stars shone brightly and stretched as though they were cut from cloth and pulled asunder. The trumpets softened into a grand melody, Tywin's sword had fallen from his hand, and distantly he could hear many other men weeping for the music was so beautiful… he could almost see Joanna in that moment. When his senses had returned he saw that the army was before the gates of the Golden Tooth, a castle Tywin knew well. This alarmed him, the Tooth was supposed to be several days march to their West, how could- and then he'd turned and taken his first glance at the plains of Gondor.

"Well we do have some good news," Tyrion said, interrupting his fathers thoughts, "it seems our dear sister is back at the Rock with her children, including our King. Whatever brought me to you seems to have brought her home as well." Tywin noted the disappointment in his son's tone and frowned, but inwardly felt a sudden sense of relief. When they had first appeared here men quickly brought him word that Tyrion and a band of savages had appeared on the host's edge. Only the quick intervention of his son and a sellsword he'd brought had prevented the two confused groups from attacking each other. Since then Tywin had wondered about Cersei's fate, now his suspicions were confirmed, everyone from the Westerlands had been brought home. "In addition it seems all of the merchants of Lannisport have found themselves brought back too, some from as far away as Asshai," Tyrion continued.

Jaime looked momentarily uncomfortable, "Tyrion perhaps I should tell him-"

"They've also found the wreck of the " _Laughing Lion_ " washed up on a beach outside the city… there is a body in it believed to be uncle Gerion." Tyrion's face was downcast, Tywin recalled his fool brother had always taken a liking to his runt of a son. The news didn't particularly phase Tywin, he'd long believed his brother dead, the result of treasure hunting for the family sword in the ruins of Valyria, and the confirmation was merely that, confirmation.

Tywin was silent a moment, as was proper, at news of his brothers passing. He then looked to his sons. "We cannot keep this army under arms indefinitely, I sent a few men west under Ser Robert Brax to find the lord of these Gondorians and determine whether it will be necessary to do so. I sent them with a raven so we should expect some manner of reply or warning soon."

Tyrion nodded, "A good choice, coolheaded enough not to start a fight or rape a farmer's daughter but still expendable. I was half worried you would send Clegane or Lorch."

Tywin stared unblinking at his son, "As the smith's tools each serve a different purpose so do our vassals." He turned to Jaime, "take note of this, unless we find a way to bring the Westerlands back to Westeros I believe we can consider you released from your vows."

Sensing the implication Jaime quickly spoke, "but father the King is still with us, surely he will need-"

"Joffrey is now king of nothing but the Westerlands and you will serve him better as it's future lord paramount than you would as his Kingsguard." The edges of his mouth curled into a slight smile, if he was to be thrown into a strange new world he would at least have his son back, "in any case it seems most of our enemies are gone, though the farmers we've talked to have told us there are mighty cities and citadels in Gondor they are also committed to war already against some foe in the far East, this "Mordor," and by all accounts it is not going well for them."

Tyrion seemed troubled and spoke suddenly, "I've talked to one of the farmers our scouts brought in, he claims that this Lord Sauron of Mordor leads armies of beasts, that the people of Mordor aren't men at all but monsters who seek not to conquer, but to destroy."

Tywin chuckled, they were all shaken by the sudden appearance of this new world, but it was still silly to imagine an army of Grumpkins and Snarks like his son suggested, "Tyrion with all the reading you do I would hope you would be more educated on these matters, this Sauron and his people are no more beasts than Robb Stark was, and you remember the tales the men were telling about him?"

Tyrion nodded impatiently, "yes father that was… amusing, and obviously for all his flaws Robb Stark likely doesn't become a wolf at night, but this seemed different. These people genuinely fear this Lord Sauron, they speak of him like men in Westeros speak of the Stranger. I don't think this is a mere hate between rival nations."

Tywin's amusement was running thin now, "Tyrion men tell lies, terrible lies, about those they hate. Do you know what kinds of things Stannis Baratheon was saying about your brother and sister?" He was angry now, "if anything this Sauron will prove vital to us if Gondor is hostile, the mere threat of an alliance with him would be enough of a deterrence. I'll hear no more of this, Tyrion you are possessed of a certain low cunning, but you need to learn to apply it more carefully. Don't believe every legend and rumor you hear, it will not serve you well."

The family gathering was interrupted by a man coming up the stairs from the lower keep, "my lords," he said bowing quickly. "The raven sent with Ser Brax has returned." The man handed Tywin a letter with a seal in the shape of a tree on it.

"Leave us," Tywin commanded. He waited until the man left before turning his gaze to the letter, he sighed with some trepidation. The contents of this letter could spell war for the Westerlands, suddenly feeling bold he ripped the seal off and began reading.

 _To Lord Tywin Lannister of the Westerlands  
Greetings on behalf of the Throne of Gondor, I Denethor, Son of Ecthelion and steward of the Throne of Gondor do hereby accept your offer. My son Faramir, chief of the Rangers of Ithilien, is following your man Brax to your Westerlands to treat with you. He is in the company of 20 of his men and rides with the Wizard Gandalf the Grey, called Mithrandir in Gondor and Grayhame elsewhere. Gondor desires no war, but you are on land sworn to the Throne of Gondor and this must be taken into account. Long has Gondor stood against the shadows in the East, if need be we can raise our shield to the West as well. Please treat my son with all the courtesy that is his due. As with yourself I hope this relationship will be one of friends and not of enemies._

Tywin handed the letter to his son Jaime, "it seems we will have guests soon. The son of this Denethor rides for the Tooth to treat with us."

Jaime read the letter quickly and smirked, "Tyrion they're bringing a wizard, maybe you can ask him about the grumpkins and snarks in Mordor."

Tyrion didn't appreciate being mocked, "surely they wouldn't call this man a wizard, especially in an official correspondence, if he hadn't earned the title?"

Tywin shrugged, "perhaps he is their equivalent of a maester, all we can do is wait and see. We must first determine who will ride out and greet these men."

Jaime stepped forward, "Father I would gladly-"

"No," Tywin cut him off, you are certainly of high enough birth, but these men may be skilled warriors or assassins. This could be some attempt to strike at you or I as leaders of the Westerlands. We need someone more…" he was about to say expendable, but his eyes landed on Tyrion and he thought better of it, "diplomatic."

Tyrion seemed to sense his intent, both spoken and unspoken, and his eyes narrowed. "Father are you suggesting I should serve as your envoy?"

Tywin allowed himself a smile, "indeed, you have surpassed my expectations in winning over those mountain savages of the Vale, and I'm sure you can determine for us if these men of Gondor have any ill intent towards our family."

"By taking the first dagger no doubt," Tyrion replied tersely.

Tywin feigned offense, "I try my best to put you in positions of honor and at every turn you spite me, will you do this thing or not?"

Tyrion sighed and said what he always said when confronted with one of Tywin's demands, "yes father."


	3. III The Second Son

**III.**  
 **The Second Son** Faramir looked to the mountains that rose before the party, mountains that were far taller than those he remembered in this part of Gondor from his youth. Nestled on a foothill overlooking the entrance to a pass was their destination, the castle known as the Golden Tooth. It had been two weeks since they had left from Minas Tirith, and though he was pleased to speak with Gandalf on the journey the knight from the Westerlands, Ser Brax, was not talkative and only responded to questions about his home with short terse answers. The few men who had come with him seemed unnerved by the Gondorian party and were standoffish as well. Faramir reflected that if the rest of the Westermen were as skittish as this group there would be little to talk about.

"So this Tywin Lannister can command a host of fifty thousand men?" Gandalf prodded the Westerosi man at arms again, he had been more insistent on conversation than Faramir had.

"Yes, the Westerlands has the finest army in the Seven Kingdoms, our cavalry cannot be matched," Ser Brax replied, "and Jaime Lannister, our lord Tywin's son, is the finest swordsman in the world."

Just as Faramir was about to question this claim one of his rangers sent to scout ahead blew a horn. Looking to the road ahead of them Faramir saw another small column of men bearing the lion banner he now knew was the crest of the Lannister family.

As they rode closer Faramir began to make out the members of the column. Once they were in speaking distance one of them, who Faramir had initially thought to be a child or perhaps a Halfling of some sort rode from the center of the group. Alongside him rode a man wearing different armor and regalia from the rest of them. While the knights on horseback wore lacquered red armor this man wore simple chainmail and brown leathers. From the way he carried himself Faramir recognized a trained killer, not a knight such as the other men riding with him or those of Dol Amroth who Faramir knew well. This was a man who prided himself on surviving, not grand cavalry charges or unfurling standards. A bodyguard for the little man perhaps? Their equivalent of a ranger?

Faramir could see now the small man had small twisted limbs, a deformity then, not one of the Shirefolk or a Dwarf. He found it odd that a man such as this would be sent to treat with them. The halfman spoke, "Greetings to Faramir, son of Denethor, and the men of Gondor, I am Tyrion Lannister, son of Lord Tywin Lannister, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands. On his behalf I have come to escort you the rest of the way to the Golden Tooth where we have prepared a feast to welcome you!"

Looking to Gandalf he spoke quietly, "evidently the Westerlands are indeed a true realm and not a flight of fancy," turning to Tyrion he spoke, "Well met, Tyrion son of Tywin. We will gladly accompany you if you give your word that we shall have safe passage.

Tyrion seemed surprised and then amused, as if he weren't used to people taking him seriously, "Well if my word is worth so much it is yours, I promise you safe passage." The little man looked over the group, his eyes lingered on Gandalf taking in the grey robes and pointed hat. "Well if that is Faramir and those are the rangers of Ithilien you must be the Wizard, Gandalf the Grey I presume?"

Gandalf laughed, "am I so obvious? I am Gandalf the Grey, and yes I am a wizard."

Tyrion seemed suspicious, "forgive me if I am being untoward, but could we perhaps see some…" here he hesitated, embarrassed, "magic? We've no Wizards in the Westerlands and I've never seen any."

Gandalf smiled, "well magic is a wild thing, like a warrior's sword it is not for amusement but to serve specific purposes, it's use reserved for grand occasions and very special meetings."

Tyrion seemed disappointed, "I've heard such from Maesters and Septons before, I understand comple-" his words were cut off by a crackling sound which spooked a few of the horses. Looking up quickly Tyrion saw a shower of red sparks swirl away from the wizard's staff before disappearing into the air.

"Special meetings such as this, Tyrion son of Tywin," Gandalf continued.

Faramir smiled, he and his rangers had seen some of Gandalf's fireworks before, but the men of the Westerlands were astounded, a few who were close edged away from the elderly wizard. Tyrion in particular was smiling with wonder. Faramir took some comfort in the fact that at least this first meeting was going well. He looked at the sun which was beginning to set now, "As amusing as Mithrandir's fireworks are perhaps we should ride to meet your lord father now?"

The little man seemed to regain his composure, "certainly, simply follow us." He turned and the horse began trotting back up the road toward the mountains and the Golden Tooth. Faramir spurred his horse forward to the front of the column, he wished to speak with the son of this Lord Paramount.

"So I have heard that you are the second son of Lord Tywin Lannister, why is this Jaime the golden knight absent?"

Tyrion laughed, "Oh the Golden Knight, he'll love that one, be sure to tell him that's what your people are calling him." His laugh became a low chuckle and then he continued, "I am here so that if you and your rangers were blackhearts and killers my father will have lost _little_ ," He spat the word.

Faramir was troubled by this remark, "Is your father not kind to his children?"

Tyrion shrugged, "whatever love he might have for me is out of obligation, I'd say no more to a stranger, no offense."

"None taken," the ranger responded, "if it consoles you any I am also here because my father did not wish to risk my older brother, lest this be an ambush by our enemies."

This made the dwarf laugh, he unclipped a wineskin from his belt and handed it to Faramir, who took it not wanting to seem rude. From somewhere the little man produced yet another flask of wine and lifted it in Boromir's direction, "to great men and their unwanted second sons."

The man in chainmail rode closer, "mind if I join this toast?" he said producing his own drink, "I couldn't tell you where my father is, that good enough for this?" he asked.

Tyrion shrugged, "by all means, any excuse to drink is a good one." He seemed to notice Faramir again, "oh where are my manners, Faramir of Gondor, this is Bronn."

Faramir waited a moment before asking, "Bronn… of?"

"Just Bronn friend, now shall we drink?" the sellsword raised his own cup to his lips, as did Tyrion. Feeling it was the right thing to do in the moment Faramir also drank.

He noted right away that it was a stronger wine than anything in Gondor, then remembered that Tyrion had apparently been carrying multiple containers of it with him. _Eru preserve me how much do these people drink?_ He thought. His musings were interrupted by the sellsword.

"So, you another fancy lord living in a grand castle somewhere?" The question was friendly but there was a barb underneath it. Faramir sensed this and instantly realized what the man really wanted to know.

"the White City of Minas Tirith is the grandest castle in the world, and I have a grand chamber on the highest level. Unfortunately due to my duties as head ranger I have only slept there a few dozen times in the last year if that, I find the ground more comfortable now."

Bronn grunted with approval, "you should see the inns in Westeros, every time I pay for a room I wish I was using a rock for a pillow, less fleas you see." He took another swig, "problem is you can't take a girl back to a pile of boulders in the woods!" Tyrion laughed uproariously at this, and not wanting to feel left out Faramir gave a light chuckle.

"So what did you do to make your father send you to monsters like us?" Tyrion gestured at Bronn. "My father would love to have a son like you, tall, strong, and a warrior too, if not quite as handsome as me."

Faramir thought for a moment, "I suppose I'm not my brother, I don't love the sword, only those it protects." He sighed, "my true calling is song and sonnet, but I owe it to the people of Gondor to protect them from the shadow of Mordor."

Bronn snorted, "mate if you're a man who hates the sword then I'm a silent sister."

Tyrion was more sympathetic, "well perhaps you should perform a song of Gondor at the banquet." They were approaching the walls of the Tooth now, "we have all manner of instrument if you desire…"

Faramir sighed, "perhaps another time, I'm charged with official representation of Gondor and performing in such a manner might not be appropriate."

Tyrion shrugged, "whatever you feel is best, speaking of songs…" The party was within earshot of the castle by now, and Faramir could make out the beginnings of a song coming from the ramparts. As they drew closer Faramir could see many men gathered on the walls, some with lit torches and some holding banners bearing the golden lion of house Lannister.

 _And who are you, the proud lord said,  
that I must bow so low?  
Only a cat of a different coat,  
that's all the truth I know.  
In a coat of gold or a coat of red,  
a lion still has claws,  
And mine are long and sharp, my lord,  
as long and sharp as yours.  
And so he spoke, and so he spoke,  
that Lord of Castamere,  
But now the rains weep o'er his hall,  
with no one there to hear.  
Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall,  
and not a soul to hear. _

Faramir was a bit taken aback by the somber lyrics, "I take it I won't be meeting this Lord of Castamere?" he asked Tyrion

Tyrion's face was strange, as though many emotions were going through him at once. "No you won't, and I hope you like the song because you're likely to hear it a lot while you're here."

Faramir pondered this for a moment, "this is a statement from your father? To impress upon us your family's strength no doubt."

Now Tyrion just pointed to one of the taller towers on the castle, "perhaps you can ask him the meaning yourself, he's up there leading the song." True to Tyrion's word a bald wiry man in red armor stood far above the rest, even from this distance Faramir guessed the smile on his face was a rare occurrence.

 _Perhaps I should repay him with a song after all_ , Faramir thought grimly. 


	4. IV The Steward

**IV.  
The Steward**

Mithrandir was gone with Faramir's party, he could now act as he pleased. He took the rag off the Palantir. Though he was it's rightful master he always feared to use it when the Wizard was in the city. Gandalf would not approve, but he merely saw Gondor as the shield of middle earth, a tool and little else. Denethor, son of Ecthelion would be the true guardian of the West even as the Wizard smoked pipe weed with the halflings. He collected himself and placed his hand over the glass orb…

The world of the Palantir was… odd to say the least. It was almost like flying as a bird, but with no limits on the strength of one's wings. A single thought sent one to the far edges of a kingdom, perhaps farther.

 _I see you…_

The eye, Denethor had long known him here. For years it had shown him nothing but fear and loathing… but today Denethor would surprise it _, "_ Look to the West, men are yet strong and free of your influence."

The view, which he knew the Dark Lord shared, shifted to what had been Anfalas. Great mountains rose up, and beyond them a new realm of men, proud and strong. He forced the eye to see their strongholds, Casterly Rock, the fisheries of Faircastle, The Golden tooth, all great, populated, and with no fear of the so called Dark Lord. Feeling mirthful Denethor sought out strength in these new lands, their view settled on a place known as Cleganes Keep. There a man as large as any Troll walked in armor too heavy even for that damned race to wear. Confidently he spoke, "men such as he kill where they wish and none dare resist, be they Orc or Nazgul, the Westermen are both brave and strong".

For a moment the view turned to blackness, the night skies themselves perhaps? A distraction only, Denethor told himself. Suddenly they were over Mordor, armies of orcs, tens, no hundreds of thousands strong marched. The view flew further east where hundreds of thousands of the men of Rhun and Harad gathered.

 _So another nation has appeared to the many I already own, brave and strong though they may be Denethor they are but men, and men I know well. Shall we see what spoils the Lion will leave for thee?_

A great fire appeared before Denethor son of Ecthelion, a fire he realized was Minas Tirith. A great golden Lion covered in flames and bearing the long terrible pupils of the Great Eye stood above the city, with a swipe of it's paw the White Tree fell. A low chorus sung in the smoke, with horror Denethor realized the Dark Lord himself was singing too, a terrible voice to make men tremble and flee now echoed with the singing of the men burning Minas Tirith

 _And who are you, Denethor said,_  
 _that I must bow so low?_  
 _Only a man of a different coat,_  
 _that's all the truth I know._  
 _In a coat of gold or a coat of white,_  
 _a lion still has claws,_  
 _And mine are long and sharp, my lord,_  
 _as long and sharp as yours._

 _A lovely song isn't it Denethor? But that is not the only great work of your new friends, let us look into them further…_

Denethor gasped, he saw men bearing the Lion banner slaughtering mere babes in a city he didn't recognize, he saw a wedding become a killing field as that same song played while crossbows cut into the groomsmen. He saw the man the size of a troll raping a farmer's daughters for no other reason than that he could.

 _No… no…_ Despair gripped him, "men free of your foul influence would never-"

A soft chuckle, _Denethor second of his name, these men have ever been free of me… perhaps you should look within thine own heart. Would greed and villainy vanish with me from this world? These men never knew me and still do not, and yet they commit such atrocities as to put orcs to shame._

Denethor sunk further into darkness, had this new nation of men been the work of the dark lord all along? His heart shrunk to embers… but there was still a certain courage in him, the spirit of the men of the West… Suddenly he felt something, a wind beneath his wings, and as Sauron's was terrible Denethor's for that brief moment became great in equal measure, " _As you say they are but men... men who do not know tomorrow nor do they know eternity as you and the Firstborn do, but we have long lived without such luxuries, we are prone to error but that is not all there is to be said of us..."_

Suddenly a new scene appeared, a small man of Halfling stature defended a city from invasion with green fire, a one handed knight fought a bear in a pit to save his love, a man in a dog shaped helm snarled as a girl was beaten by a king and leapt forth to save her.

Denethor sensed something new from the Dark Lord for the first time, confusion, and then the sweet taste of fear _, "They come "great" Eye, together we will be a scythe in a field of briars!, The Valar have sent them to end your foul reign forevermore."_

 _They will be your end before mine Steward!_ The voice screeched. _Their songs will echo as the white tree burns!_

Denethor felt hope for the first time in years, " _Perhaps the Rains of Castamere will echo over the ruins of the Barad-Dur, Sauron."_ He dared to use his enemy's true name for the first time in all his years of using the Palantir.

 _Their dark souls shall serve Mordor,_ the Eye whispered, calm again, though Denethor sensed an unnerved feeling underneath it, the Eye wasn't used to hearing it's name uttered here.

For his part Denethor felt something he had never felt in the Palantir before, annoyance, and then anger. _Go then, send your silver tongued envoys to these men, my son Faramir already knows them and will see your tricks, these Westermen will see through them as well._ With a sudden shudder Denethor lifted his hand off the Palantir. He looked at his outstretched palm for a moment before smiling and clenching his fist. For the first time in ages he felt _strong._

...

Saruman the White stared at the Palantir, shocked at what Denethor of Ecthelion had revealed. A new nation of men had appeared in Middle Earth, true, but would they tend towards the Easterlings and serve Morgoth or the men of the West in their opposition to Sauron and his servants? Saruman had witnessed the interchange between the Steward and the eye, these men of the Westerlands were capable of great evil and great good… but what would their impact be in Arda?

Saruman walked to the balcony of the Tower of Orthanc… he could feel the One Ring somewhere, calling to him. He put it out of his mind for now, he thought of what envoys could be sent to these Westermen… Mithrandir was already there among them, and an Orc bearing the white hand would give away his plans. His mind turned to the men who served him, mostly Dunlendings and a few corrupted Rohirrim. Grima would be needed in Edoras for the foreseeable future, at least until the death of Theoden, and the savages would be poor representatives. With a sigh Saruman reached the only logical conclusion, for the first time since Dol Guldur he would set forth and meet with men to determine what role they had to play in the war to come.


	5. V The Old Lion

**V.  
The Old Lion** The Tooth would not have been Tywin's first choice to host a banquet, especially for a foreign dignitary such as this, but Casterly Rock was far and this would have to do. As it was he was pleased with the selection of wine and meats that would be available. His thoughts were interrupted by Jaime, who entered the banquet hall unannounced. Though wearing his dress clothes Tywin noted he was still wearing that godsforsaken white cloak.

"Father there is a matter that requires your judgement-"

"First you will remove that cloak, you are _not_ kingsguard any longer and I will not have you presenting yourself as such to our guests."

Jaime's hands brushed the fine white cloth and sighed, "very well I will leave it in my chambers, but as I was saying you are needed at the front gates immediately."

Tywin's eyes narrowed, "why? Faramir and his men have been settled in their rooms and there is no one else near the Tooth for at least a days ride according to our scouts."

"No father, they came on the road to the West. They claim to be another group of envoys from the nation of Mordor."

Tywin thought a moment, "they must have arrived in one of the southern ports and traveled up the River Road… from what I have heard it is unlikely that they could come by way of Gondor." He walked past Jaime and made his way through the castle courtyard to the entrance. There outside the gate was a group of five men wearing black robes, one bore a banner with a bright flaming eye emblazoned on it.

One of them removed his hood. He had pale white skin and a pleasing face that contrasted well with his jet black hair. "Greetings to Lord Paramount Tywin Lannister! I am Herumor of Umbar, chosen emissary of Sauron the Great, lord of Mordor." With a flourish the man produced a small chest, "As a token of our esteem we bring you gifts, a sample of the things that await friends of the great eye!" he opened it and Tywin could see the glow of gold coins and gems.

Tywin cared little for the gold, he had enough of his own, but he gave the orders to let the men in anyways. "Well met Herumor of Umbar, I must tell you that I have under my roof men from Gondor who have also been sent to treat with me. I will allow you and your men to attend our grand banquet tonight if you promise to keep the peace under my roof."

Herumor sneered, "we will keep your peace honored host, but the men of Gondor are not to be trusted! They are warmongers who seek to conquer all they survey, slaves to the whim of the Wizards and their terrible arts."

Tywin raised an eyebrow, though his son Tyrion had spoken highly of the wizard Gandalf it hadn't seemed like anything more than his usual flights of fancy. If these Wizards had some way of clouding men's minds… He would keep an eye on Tyrion.

His thoughts returned to the emissaries of Mordor, "The men of Gondor have so far been polite guests, if you wish I can arrange lodgings for you here or at an inn in town and then I can treat with you at a separate-"

"Who are these men?" Tywin turned and saw Gandalf the Grey had approached them, his tone harsh.

Tywin spoke quickly, "these men claim to be emissaries of Mordor here to treat with us, the same as you and your party."

Gandalf huffed, "There is no "claim" about it, they are the genuine article… I could smell the stench from the tower."

"So Old Greybeard is here to talk another group of men into marching to their doom? Spreading more slander against the great one?" Herumor sneered, "I warn you exalted Lord Tywin, this fool will bring nothing but ruin to you and your house! Lathspell I name him, an ill name for an ill guest!"

Tywin sighed and rubbed his temples, "ENOUGH!" he bellowed, "speak peaceably to one another or bicker in someone else's hall."

Gandalf glowered at the black Numenorean before tapping his staff to the ground once in affirmation, "I will keep your peace, but I would warn you Lord Tywin, don't let these men carry their fel weapons in here."

Tywin nodded, "indeed, I believe I must ask _both_ parties to leave all weapons in their quarters tonight" he said, looking at Gandalf.

Gandalf stroked his beard, "a wise move… you wouldn't begrudge an old man his walking stick would you?"

Tywin's eyes narrowed suspiciously, "I will have my son Tyrion bring you one before the banquet, leave _that_ one in your room."

Herumor laughed, "a wise move," he mocked Gandalf, "now if you would be so kind as to point us to our chambers, the road has been long and my men need to don appropriate attire for the night's festivities."

Tywin nodded and turned to the guard, "see that these men are given chambers," he thought a moment, "make sure they are in a different tower from the Gondorians." The man nodded and gestured for the party to follow him. Tywin turned back to Gandalf, "I must finish preparations for the banquet, if you'll excuse me." He walked back into the main hall where Jaime waited.

"I heard some shouting, is everything all right?" His son asked.

Tywin sighed, "I'd hoped to entertain men from Mordor another time, tonight will be a balancing act between them now."

Jaime laughed, "well it can't be any worse than dining with the Starks."

The rest of the evenings preparations went smoothly and before long Tywin was seated at the head of a grand table alongside his sons. Seated with them was the young captain from Gondor, Faramir, and on the other side next to Jaime the emissary of Mordor. The remaining members of the two parties were spread about the room, at a table close to them the Wizard sat with Tyrion's sellsword Bronn.

Tywin knew a toast would be expected once the food and wine had been served to everyone, but until then he decided to ask the man from Gondor a few questions that had been troubling him. "Lord Faramir, your men say Gondor has no king, yet your father seems to rule the nation in all but name. Explain this to me."

Faramir turned away from whatever conversation he had been having with Tyrion, "well Lord Tywin the last king of Gondor died in battle against Mordor nearly a thousand years go, since then the Stewards have ruled Gondor awaiting the return of the king."

Tywin leaned in now, interested, "are there members of this dynasty surviving still?"

Faramir shrugged, "there are rumors that survivors of the House of Elessar might live in the wilderness to the North, if it is true no such man has appeared to us making that claim yet."

Tywin stroked his chin, "so in effect your father Denethor is king in all but name…"

Faramir seemed unsure of how to respond to that, "I suppose if you wish to think of it like that."

"Father it seems these Stewards are closer to the Hand of the King than they are to kings themselves," Tyrion cut in.

Tywin glared at his son a moment, "but the Hand is not a hereditary office nor does the Hand command armies and make law as these Stewards do." He looked for a moment at Gandalf, he felt his next few questions shouldn't be heard by the Wizard, but luckily he appeared to be teaching the Mercenary Bronn to use a pipe.

"I also hear that you and your brother, Boromir was it?" Faramir nodded and Tywin continued, "are the only sons of Steward Denethor, surely you both have many children to continue this noble line, going so long without a king it would be cruelty to deny the people of Gondor their stewards too."

Faramir sighed, "I'm afraid not, Mordor grows more aggressive every day and we are both needed on the battlefield."

Herumor heard and interjected, "lies upon lies, the rangers led by this man are little more than bandits who harass our traders and citizens."  
This enraged Faramir, "you putrid-"

"Herumor, what of your Lord Sauron, has he a family?" Tywin quickly interjected, cutting off the argument.

At first Herumor seemed confused, and then amused, "No, lord Sauron is beyond mere man and the pleasures of the flesh, he has no need for heirs as he is beyond our mortal coil."

"So the answer is no I suppose," Tywin said skeptically.

"He speaks truth," Faramir said grimly, "Sauron is ageless and deathless, long has he harassed Gondor since she sprouted from the ashes of Numenor thousands of years ago."

Now Tywin was unsure of what to think, he had initially believed Faramir to be a capable and serious young man, did he truly believe this… this mummer's farce?

Herumor grinned smugly at Faramir, "indeed it is truth, and Sauron commands hundreds of thousands of soldiers, far more than the so called "rangers" of Ithilien or all of Gondor."

Tywin looked to Faramir, "and does he speak truth son of Denethor? Does this Sauron assail your people with armies in the hundreds of thousands?"

Faramir looked down at his plate where a server had placed a fresh turkey leg and some bread, "yes, they are endless."

Tyrion frowned, "father perhaps this is inappropriate-"

"so this Gondor with it's depleted armies holds off hundreds of thousands of men? For decades on end?" Jaime cut in, Tywin had expected the talk of war to excite his older son, "either Mordor's soldiers are of poor quality or the men of Gondor are great warriors and tacticians."

Herumor sputtered at this, in spite of himself Tywin found he enjoyed the envoy's discomfort, "Well Herumor which is it? Is Faramir there a great captain of renown or are your soldiers simply incapable?"

Herumor was quiet a moment, but then, "t-the Wizard he fills them with terrible-"

"So the men of Gondor must be a ferocious foe on the battlefield then," Tywin said. He turned back to Faramir, "and your brother leads Gondor's armies while you lead these rangers, yes?"

Faramir was cautious now, he had seen Tywin humiliate the envoy of the Dark Lord and he had no wish to embarrass himself so, "yes, Boromir has been fighting and leading men since he was a boy."

Tywin nodded and took a moment to think to himself, _this Faramir is impressive, and his brother sounds even moreso. A great warrior, a leader of men, and an unmarried heir to a crown in all but name,_ he would send for Cersei immediately he decided. He had already planned to send Jaime to Minas Tirith to see the size and scope of the Kingdom of Gondor. If it was a worthy enough realm perhaps Cersei would be going there as well. His thoughts turned to Herumor and this "Lord Sauron." That would be another factor to consider, he would have to instruct Jaime to determine the course of this war and the true extent of Mordor's armies… surely if they commanded as many men as the two envoys claimed this war would have ended long ago. He grimaced, it would be a shame if Mordor truly was that strong and it forced him to abandon his budding plan…

"Father? The toast…" Jaime interrupted his thoughts.

Tywin looked and saw everyone looking at him. He smiled and stood up, "Well now that everyone is served allow me to propose a toast." He raised his glass and the rest of the room did as well, "To our new friends, the Kingdoms of Gondor and Mordor, may we ever have peace and friendship between our peoples" he tipped his glass back and heard cheers erupt throughout the room. Music started and Tywin sat down to enjoy his meal, _perhaps our people's will be getting MUCH closer in the near future_ , he thought. 


	6. VI The Beggar King

**VI.  
The Beggar King**

The past month had not been pleasant for Joffrey Baratheon, robbed of his six-sevenths of his kingdom and his future wife he knew the people mocked him in the streets of Lannisport. To make matters worse his mother insisted on treating him as though he were a child. She was here now in his chambers near the top of Casterly Rock, nagging him endlessly. The great mountain fortress overlooked the harbor city of Lannisport, Joffrey's eyes lingered on it for a moment, it was quite appealing at sunset and he knew to the people the Rock would look like a great lion in repose. He thought it fitting that the people below would see the it each night… though if he were to rule from here perhaps a pair of stag's antlers would need to be carved.

"Joffrey you _will_ accompany me to meet with your grandfather at the Golden Tooth if I have to drag you there myself."

He sighed and turned back to his mother, "I will _not_. Grandfather wishes to treat with these savages when he should gather our armies and force them into fealty. I'd think it was his age but he was always a coward wasn't he? Hiding here in the Rock while father killed Rhaegar on the trident. He claims to act in my name but he is as much a traitor as any Stark or Tyrell!"

 _*slap*_

It had come out of nowhere, his cheek stung and looked at his mother shocked, "I will not have you say such things about your grandfather." Cersei growled, "you will be a _great_ king Joffrey, the greatest this world has ever known, but you cannot so callously accuse your most loyal men of treason." She took a moment collecting herself and the sweet nurturing voice returned, "my sweet son, you must come to treat with these foreigners, they must know that Joffrey Baratheon rules these lands.

Joffrey was still in shock, he turned to Sandor Clegane, seated by the door. "Will you stand there and let your king be assaulted?!" he screeched.

Sandor looked to Cersei briefly and then turned back to the king, "would you have me confine your own mother to a dungeon?" he asked.

Joffrey seethed, of his Kingsguard only uncle Jaime and the dog had come with them to this new world, and he found the dog to be too uppity of late. He had heard that Ilyn Payne had appeared at the Payne estate just outside the city, perhaps a visit from the executioner would teach everyone some respect…

"Joffrey I will hear no more complaints, the wheelhouse is prepared and your brother and sister's things are packed and ready to leave." Cersei was forceful now, "We leave tomorrow," she brightened, "In any case aren't you excited to see Uncle Jaime again? Perhaps he can help you improve your swordsmanship."

Joffrey scoffed, "I am a fine swordsman already, few would dare face my steel."

Clegane made a muffled sound and Joffrey turned to him sharply, "Sorry your grace," he cleared his throat, "must've swallowed my wine wrong."

Cersei sighed, "of course you are my sweet, but there is always room for improvement." She turned to Clegane, "assist the king in making his travel arrangements." She stood and walked for the door, "I will see you tomorrow my son."

Joffrey brooded as she left. Traitors, traitors all. He felt restless, "come dog, let us go and see what things have been brought from the port." Clegane merely grunted and followed.

In one of the lower levels of the rock a canal was carved out to the sea permitting ships to dock directly at the citadel. It was here that Joffrey found a ship being unloaded by servants, he cleared his throat and saw the servants pause, taking note of him.

"Your grace," one of the men bowed and stepped forward, "I am the foreman of this dock, how may I serve?"

Joffrey ignored his prostrations, "where are these goods from?"

The man quickly opened one of the crates, "These are some items from a place far to the North called the Shire your grace."

Joffrey withdrew what appeared to be a steel rod covered in cloth, "and what is this? A weapon of some sort?"

The foreman laughed, "no your grace, watch." He took the item and placed his hands at it's base, pushing upwards causing the cloth to spread out in a bell shape over the rod, "this is an umbrella, it's a device to use so one can walk in the rain without getting wet."

Joffrey nodded, clever enough, he supposed, "and this?" he pointed to a wooden object with some sort of glass face. Inside two small needlelike objects slowly moved around the circle.

"They call it a clock your grace, it helps one keep track of time," he pointed to the hands "this one here moves by one of these dashes every minute, completely circling the clock every hour! A fascinating machine is it not?"

Joffrey took the clock looking at it closely, "indeed, this Shire must be a place of craftsman then?"

The foreman shrugged, "I wouldn't know your grace, supposedly all men there are dwarves like your uncle Tyrion."

 _Uncle Tyrion_ … that thought left a poor taste in Joffrey's mouth. He couldn't imagine an entire land of people like him, horrible greedy little monsters who preferred staring at books than the finer things in life… He shuddered. "Surely that cannot be true? How would such a nation defend itself?"

Now the foreman laughed, "your grace the man I received these items from claims he bought them from a ship full of angels who glowed like the sun." The foreman shook his head, "he sold these things to us and from what I have heard he is selling all he owns to finance a fleet to go to the home of these glowing men. Elves he calls them, says they've got pointed ears."

Joffrey smirked, a little relieved. "It sounds as though this captain may have been indulging in the milk of the poppy."

The foreman's smile faded a little, "truthfully your grace he was a merchant of some renown in Lannisport, I'm sad to see him ruin himself chasing legends like this." He gestured at the clock, "whoever sold him these things clearly fed him a line of fables to get a higher price on his goods, I'm sure he'll find more items like this to buy and sell but as your grace can imagine there's no money in chasing grumpkins and snarks."

Clegane walked over to see what they were discussing and Joffrey could smell the alcohol on his breath. Rather than reprimand him Joffrey quickly asked, "and what food and drink do these Shiremen have?"

The foreman sighed, "well as Ser Clegane has already discovered it seems they brew quality beers and ciders, we have a few barrels of such that we hoped to-"

"Excellent, have one brought to my chambers at once," Joffrey ordered.

The foreman was surprised, "a-an entire barrel your grace?"

Joffrey stared at him darkly, "Do as you are commanded and quickly or perhaps I shall have my dog motivate you."

Clegane was grinning at the prospect of more beer, but to the foreman he seemed to be grinning murderously, his cracked and blackened flesh didn't help. "At once your grace!" the Foreman barked orders and Joffrey left, Clegane in tow, confident that his barrel of beer would be arriving shortly.

A few hours later he felt his eyes grow heavy, his cup fell from his hand and he rested his head on the table in his chambers for a few minutes, he could see that Clegane was already passed out. _Lazy dog, I ought to..._ the thought was never finished before sleep claimed him as well.

He felt himself slip into a dream, while he often dreamt of glory and praise tonight it was different. He was walking the streets in rags, hunger tore at his belly, the passerby mocked and threw garbage and offal at him, chanting and singing,

 _The crownless king_  
 _The kingdomless king_  
 _Look at his misery_  
 _Laugh and sing!_

Joffrey cried out in anger and despair, he rushed at the crowd, a sword appearing from nowhere in his hand, but even as he cut into them no wounds formed and it was as if he slashed at air.

 _Look at his misery_  
 _Laugh and sing!_

Their singing drove him to near madness, he shouted at the heavens. Suddenly with a crack of thunder a great flame appeared in the sky, with a start Joffrey realized it was in the shape of a great burning eye.

 _Why should one born to greatness fear to fall so low?_

The eye spoke, a soothing deep voice, the town of mockers and the filthy street fell away, and the eye itself faded until Joffrey stood alone in a circle of light. He looked down and saw that his clothes had returned to normal and the hunger was gone.

"Does not Joffrey Baratheon deserve greatness and adoration from all he knows?" a woman's voice now, one he recognized.

" _Sansa?"_ he asked incredulously, "Sansa Stark?"

As if in confirmation she stepped into the circle of light with him, "Perhaps, if it please your grace." She said demurely.

Something about her unnerved Joffrey, where the Sansa he had known was always modest and prided herself on courtly mannerisms this Sansa wore a low cut red dress and shawl, not unlike the red priestesses of Asshai, she confidently walked towards him. Now Joffrey gasped, where Sansa Stark had deep blue eyes this woman's were burning red, it was not simple coloration but true flames burning over her pupils.

"Joffrey my son," now a deep masculine voice from the other side of the circle rang out. He turned and there back from the dead was Robert Baratheon. He wore black armor with spiked shoulders, his helm was open exposing his face but the helmet rose into a pair of what looked more like thorns than antlers. On his breastplate a great eye was emblazoned in bright orange, standing out against the black of the rest of his armor.

"f-father?" Joffrey struggled to meet his gaze, when he finally did he saw that he too had the burning red eyes.

Robert laughed jovially, "my son death cannot contain me, remember Ours is the Fury!"

Joffrey was frightened now, he looked at the two specters who drew closer to him, "what is this?" he cried, "what do you want of me?"

Sansa was the first to speak, "we are here to show you the path to regain what was stolen from you…" she waved her hand and they were in a clearing Joffrey saw a double of himself standing there, holding a small golden ring on a chain.

"The ring of Sauron the great, a ring of power forged by his skilled and secret arts… any man who returns it to it's master will be greatly rewarded" Sansa turned to the East, "look there and see him."

Joffrey did as she commanded, in the east he could see a great flame atop a castle that dwarfed Casterly Rock or even the Red Keep.

"Sauron is powerful son, more powerful than me and my armies by tenfold," Robert said, "grant him this small boon and he shall give you the entire world to rule in his name."

Joffrey looked back to the version of himself holding the ring, he felt it's pull now, he could even hear a whispering voice, _"take it Joffrey, take it and watch as the world bows."_ He could contain himself no longer, he rushed forward at the copy of himself, meaning to take the ring, but they disappeared as though they were made of smoke.

"Alas this is only a vision," Sansa spoke.

" _Where?"_ Joffrey snarled, "Where is it?"

Sansa smiled, " _Baggins_ ," she hissed, " _The Shire"_

Robert lumbered to him now, "All will be yours…" he clasped Joffrey's hand, Joffrey yelped for his handshake was like fire. "Make me proud Joffrey, Ours is the Fury"

Desperate to keep the handshake Joffrey squealed in response, "O-Ours is" he winced, "The FURY!"

He awoke with a start, looking outside he could see dawn was just breaking on the far horizon. Despite the amount of beer he'd drank the previous night he felt clearheaded and calm. He looked at his hand and winced. It was burned, not badly, but enough to confirm his suspicions that it had been no mere dream. He clenched his scalded fist, ignoring the pain, he knew what he had to do. First he went and kicked Sandor awake

"Up dog, we have much to do!"

Sandor grumbled and took a minute to get his bearings, "what are you on about? It's the middle of the bloody night…"

Joffrey began grabbing things, first he took his crossbow off the wall and a quiver of bolts, then his sword belt. "We're leaving dog,"

This confused Clegane, "of course we are, your mother the Queen-"

"No," he interrupted, "not with them." He winced again, packing items with a burned hand was proving more difficult than he'd thought.

"Then where?"

Joffrey finally clasped his belt and slid his sword into it's scabbard, "North, to this… this Shire." Before Clegane could speak again Joffrey cut him off, "We leave now and we leave in secret, go to the kitchens and get some food, food that will last on the road." He thought a moment, "wine too." Clegane hesitated and then began following his orders.

"Your grace meet me in the stables as soon as you've gathered your things," he growled.

Joffrey nodded, "excellent." _Baggins…_ he thought to himself _The Shire…_


	7. VII Gandalf The Grey

**VII.**

Gandalf the Grey

The wizard awoke with a pounding headache, though a Wizard had a more formidable constitution than mere men these Westermen brewed the strongest wine he'd had since a blurry night in Thranduil's caverns a century ago. He took a deep breath and began to will the pain away, as an Istari was wont to do. He thought back to the night before…

Gandalf had been trying to teach the man Bronn the proper way to smoke a pipe, but he'd kept coughing. "This may be something for fancy lords and ladies and not for me," he'd remarked.

After the toast various minstrels and performers had filled the room and sang songs of the Westerlands. There was _The Rains of Castamere_ of course, thankfully at a much more upbeat tempo this time, and a song Gandalf had particularly liked involving a bear, He would have to ask one of the Westermen the proper name so he could request it during his eventual travels here. Then a song about the wife of a man from Dorne, Gandalf had found it amusing but Faramir's face had turned red, the other rangers in the party had laughed uproariously at this and teased him mercilessly. As the evening had wound down and after every man there had taken at least a few flasks of wine one of the men of Herumor's party offered to sing a song of Middle Earth. Gandalf was skeptical at first until one of them had returned from a chamber with a lute.

 _Gil-galad was an Elven-king._  
 _Of him the harpers sadly sing;_  
 _the last whose realm was fair and free_  
 _between the Mountains and the Sea._

 _His sword was long, his lance was keen._  
 _His shining helm afar was seen;_  
 _the countless stars of heaven's field_  
 _were mirrored in his silver shield._

 _But long ago he rode away,_  
 _and where he dwelleth none can say;_  
 _for into darkness fell his star_  
 _in Mordor where the shadows are._

Where the song of Gil Galad was sung in a mournful manner in the lands of the elves the men from the east played it as a tavern song, triumphant. At the climax of the song they had raised their glasses and Gandalf was dismayed to see many of the Westermen did with them. He'd looked to the head table to see Tyrion Lannister whispering something to Faramir, who had then stood, "Lord Tywin you and your men greeted us with a song of your house, allow me to repay it with a song of the West."

Tywin had raised an eyebrow but waved him forward, "by all means, do you require an instrument? I'm sure one can be loaned to-" At that point a servant had appeared with a harp with gold trim, handing it to Faramir.

Faramir then looked to Tyrion and smiled, "it seems one has been provided." Faramir had strung the harp slowly, checking it's tune before nodding. "This is song of Durin's folk, far to the North, they who dwell in the Lonely Mountain…" He sang,

 _Far over the misty mountains cold_  
 _To dungeons deep and caverns old_  
 _We must away ere break of day_  
 _To find our long-forgotten gold._

 _The pines were roaring on the height,_  
 _The winds were moaning in the night._  
 _The fire was red, it flaming spread;_  
 _The trees like torches blazed with light._

Faramir's voice carried well in the hall, and as the song continued the men began singing along with the chorus. Even the men from Umbar sang along by the end of it, though they did not join in the cheer that erupted at the conclusion. Embarassed, Faramir had grinned and bowed. Gandalf himself had taken a puff from his pipe and smiled in approval.

Lord Tywin had then requested a song of Gondor, this time the Umbari men simply glowered at the singer,  
 _Gondor! Gondor, between the Mountains and the Sea!_  
 _West Wind blew there; the light upon the Silver Tree_  
 _Fell like bright rain in gardens of the Kings of old._  
 _O proud walls! White towers! O winged crown and throne of gold!_  
 _O Gondor, Gondor! Shall Men behold the Silver Tree,_  
 _Or West Wind blow again between the Mountains and the Sea?_

Gandalf frowned, that was the last thing he'd remembered before the strength of the Westermen's drink had begun to blur the evening. He was disturbed by a frantic knock at the door which irritated his headache further. He opened the door and was surprised to see Faramir, who was panicked and had redshot eyes to match the Wizard's.

"Gandalf, you must help me, I don't know what to do! I have…," he sobbed on the verge of tears, "I have failed in my mission!"

This shook Gandalf out of his hangover, and he felt the headache recede. "Faramir, what have you done?"

Faramir sighed and seemed to steel himself, "This morning I awoke with a woman in my chambers… I fear I have lain with her... I swear Gandalf I do not remember what happened!"

This shocked Gandalf, sullying a maiden was a terrible dishonor in Gondor, especially for one raised as high as Faramir. This could jeopardize the entire mission, "What were you thinking?!" Gandalf sputtered, "fool of a ranger! The Westermen will think the men of Gondor to be lechers and louts!"

"What's all the shouting about, don't you know it's rude to be loud after a night of drinking?" The sellsword Bronn, in the company of the small lord Tyrion had come to the hallway.

Gandalf met Faramir's eyes and the message between them was clear, _speak not of this._ He turned to the little man, "Lord Tyrion, Master Bronn, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

Now Tyrion and Bronn looked at each other and seemed to pass a message unheard. Tyrion spoke first, "my friends I have some…" he sighed, "troubling news, you see the girl you took to your chambers last night Faramir… she is with child."

"What?!" The wizard roared, shocked, meanwhile Faramir's face paled and went white. Suddenly as if they could hold it no longer, the dwarf and the sellsword burst into laughter.

"Y-you should have seen your faces," the dwarf sputtered, barely able to take a breath.

Bronn grinned, "indeed, I talked him into it coming up the stairs, a little joke between friends eh?"

"So… she is not with child?" Faramir asked slowly, then he sighed with relief, "thank the Valar for that I suppose…"

Tyrion's chuckling finally slowed but he still grinned, "Indeed, it's hard to get a woman pregnant with naught but songs and poems."

The wizard furrowed his brow, "What do you mean? What did Faramir do last night after the banquet?"

Tyrion shrugged, "Well I snuck in three girls from a lovely little whorehouse just West of here. Bronn took one as is only fair,"

Bronn grinned, "only fair" he repeated.

Tyrion continued, "and I was going to take two but then Bronn remarked that a good host shares with his guests, so I sent a lovely redheaded girl to your room as an act of diplomacy." He seemed quite pleased with himself.

"Did your lord father know of this?" Gandalf asked, torn between shock and disgust.

"Oh no of course not, and it would be wise not to tell him, after all we're among friends right?" Tyrion winked at Faramir.

Faramir seemed horrified again, "a whore, a son of the Steward has lain with a whore!" he nearly wailed.

Now Tyrion seemed a little embarrassed, "Oh calm down, I passed her on the stairs coming up here and she told me you did nothing but sing to her and recite poetry until you passed out. I will say she seems quite enamored with you, but you did not lay with one another."

Gandalf glowered at the little man, "You are a strange and lecherous imp, do you know that Tyrion Lannister?"

Now Tyrion was defensive, "surely a leader of men who has spent years on the campaign has-"

"No," Faramir spoke, collecting his wits and seeming relieved he had not shamed his family. "Ithilien has few still living in it due to the enemy's raids, women or men, and it would be improper for a captain of Gondor to… to conduct himself as you are suggesting."

Tyrion's eyebrows raised, "and the Wizard calls _me_ strange… in any case my true purpose was to invite you down to the courtyard, my brother has had the master-at-arms set up a practice field and he's taking all challengers, be they from Gondor, Umbar, Mordor, or anywhere else… I thought you might be interested."

Faramir sighed and rubbed his head, "surely, allow me some time to… prepare."

Some time later they gathered around the practice yard where the young lion was sparring against Herumor and another of the black Numenoreans with a pair of tournament swords.

Tyrion was seated on a cushion atop a stool watching with interest, Bronn was there with him and Gandalf noted a sharp black bruise on the sellsword's arm, which was exposed by his rolled up sleeve. "Well Master Bronn, have you been wounded in battle already?"

The mercenary rubbed his arm, "indeed, that one there," he gestured to Herumor, "is much stronger than he looks. Beat me in two of three matches, I was about to challenge him to three of five when Ser Jaime demanded the next match."

Gandalf studied the emissary of Mordor, "the blood of Numenor is still strong even in such a place as Umbar, I sense this Herumor probably has some in his veins, though not as strong the steward's bloodline or the Dunedain of the north."

Jaime and Herumor were now agreeing upon rules in the center of the ring, Tyrion turned to Gandalf, "do wizards perchance enjoy a wager?"

Gandalf was confused, he'd heard many requests in his travels but nobody had tried to wager with him, "I'm afraid I've no gold to spare if that's what you're after."

Tyrion shrugged, "Well I've too much, which is why I so kindly share it with my friend here." He gestured to Bronn, who half-grunted and half chuckled in response. "Perhaps your hat? I like the look of it"

The Wizard laughed, "surely you jest? It's nearly as wide as you are tall! It would look absurd."

Tyrion grinned, "well as you noted I'm something of an absurd little man, if not the hat what then?"

Gandalf withdrew a small pouch from his robe, "I've a good amount of pipe weed with me, and I suppose I could include the spare pipe in my quarters."

Tyrion looked at the tobacco curiously and then inhaled the scent of it, "very well, I'll place a gold dragon against this. I will take my brother Jaime and you can take Herumor, agreed?"

Gandalf grimaced at the pale faced man, who in spite of his imminent tournament bout returned the hate filled gaze. "No, our wager shall be on Faramir and your brother."

Tyrion nodded, "very well, but do you think Faramir will be up to it? He didn't seem a man used to hangovers like that."

Gandalf smiled now, "the blood of Numenor flows in him, the men of the West recover from illness and poisons quicker than most, including the self inflicted."

Tyrion laughed, "I suppose we shall see, if they're famous for walking off their wine perhaps I carry their blood too!"

They were interrupted by the first clang of the tournament swords, while they'd talked Herumor had rushed forward and attempted to strike at Jaime who had deflected the blow upwards and heaved his shoulder into his opponent, knocking the wind out of him. Herumor stumbled back and Jaime slashed low. This would have ended the fight for most men but even as he sputtered Herumor managed a quick leap backwards out of reach. Drawing a deep breath he attempted another quick rush at Jaime's now open torso, but Jaime quickly sidestepped and tripped him. As Herumor tumbled to the earth Jaime quickly tapped his back, which made a loud clang as the dulled practice blade made contact with the man's cuirass. A cheer came from the Westermen watching as Jaime helped his opponent to his feet.

"Your brother fights well Lord Tyrion, such a swordsman would quickly rise to become a captain of Gondor," Faramir remarked. Gandalf and Tyrion turned to see him standing there looking renewed and refreshed.

"Perhaps you should have bet he would make it here, I would have lost that one," Tyrion quietly remarked to Gandalf.

Jaime had noticed Faramir by now, "Care to join us for a bit of sport Lord Faramir?" Jaime asked grinning. "The men Mordor sent are skilled, I've yet to fight any of Gondor though, the few who would speak to me said I should challenge you."

Faramir gave a thin smile, Gandalf knew that Faramir cared little for glory or swordplay, skilled as he was, but the rangers of Ithilien thought highly of their captain. Gandalf could see several of them appearing around the arena now, hoping to see him in action.

Faramir sighed and then smiled, "Yes, it is agreed then. Longswords?"

Jaime returned the smile, "of course, what other weapon is worthy of a knight?"

And so Gandalf watched as the blades of Gondor crossed the blades of the Westerlands for the first time.

 **AN: fixed the duplicate ch. 6 featuring Joffrey**


	8. VIII The Golden Knight

**VIII.  
The Golden Knight**

Jaime was having a good day, the crisp autumn air was perfect for swordplay and he'd been told his father was summoning Cersei and what was left of the royal party to further their diplomatic outreach. So good was his mood that he'd had a small melee grounds erected in the courtyard of the Tooth, and he'd spent the morning besting any of the bannermen who felt up to it. He loved the clang of metal on metal as the tourney swords made contact. The only thing that he'd been disappointed with was the practice armor sets in the Tooth's armory. He'd almost gone to retrieve his golden armor but thought better of it, truthfully the armor was only gold thinly plated over steel and usually needed to be reworked after each tournament to repair the scratches in the gold that resulted from taking a lance or a tournament sword blow. He didn't know if the Tooth had a smith capable of repairing it and he didn't know when he'd next need it, so he'd erred on the safe side.

Of the visitors Herumor had been a pleasant surprise, initially he'd hoped to fight his brother's man Bronn, but after watching the emissary of Mordor defeat the sellsword in the ring Jaime had decided he would test the Umbari's steel instead. He was quick and Jaime had felt more strength than he'd expected when he'd tried to press his attack, but Jaime was quicker.

As he'd helped Herumor up the man had remarked, "good sport yes, but things would be different if I had a curved corsair blade."

Jaime had laughed politely, magnanimous in victory, "certainly, as they would if you met my lance on the pitch." He turned and saw that Faramir was now on the grounds, wearing his light leather armor. Grinning he called, "Care to join us for a bit of sport Lord Faramir? The men Mordor sent are skilled, I've yet to fight any of Gondor though. The few who would speak to me said I should challenge you." It was true, Jaime had challenged a few of the rangers who'd passed by to enter the ring with him, but they'd all deferred to Faramir, assuring him that eventually the captain would appear.

Faramir sighed and then smiled, "Yes, it is agreed then. Longswords?"

Jaime returned the smile, "of course, what other weapon is worthy of a knight?"

Faramir took the blunted tournament sword that Jaime offered and assumed a stance in the other corner of the ring, Jaime could immediately tell he was more skilled with longswords than Herumor had been.

The master at arms who was serving as a referee looked to Faramir and bellowed, "Standard tournament melee rules, you're out at the first blow to the torso or if you step out of the ring." Faramir nodded and they started.

Jaime stalked confidently forward, hoping to pen Faramir in a corner of the arena, this would give him more room to maneuver and hopefully throw the Gondorian off balance. Faramir saw this and met him in the middle of the ring, the two began circling one another.

Jaime struck first, a wide powerful blow designed to force the ranger to lean into the force of the hit in order to stay balanced. Jaime was shocked when Faramir took the brunt of the blow without so much as swaying. Taking advantage of his surprise Faramir darted forward with a series of quick stabbing motions.

 _Strong,_ Jaime thought, _stronger than a man of that size ought to be,_ _fast too… faster than…_ he put the notion out of his head. Faramir's press had extended his arms too far and he was at the edge his reach, his ability to maneuver was now limited. Jaime quickly pushed Faramir's sword to one side and closed the distance, now inside Faramir's defenses. _All over now,_ he gloated to himself. Faramir then turned on his feet, _fool, now he's even more open_. The open palmed strike to his sternum took Jaime completely by surprise, he staggered back a bit, but completed his strike with a loud * _clang*_ , ending the match.

"Faramir wins!" the Master at arms shouted.

 _What?_ "Are you blind?" Jaime shouted at him.

The master at arms just sighed and pointed to Jaime's left foot, looking down Jaime saw that it was just barely outside the chalk dust barrier he'd had the servants erect that morning. In his haste to move inside Faramir's reach he hadn't noticed that the Gondorian Captain's offensive had brought the fight so near the edge of the ring. "Gods damn it," Jaime swore angrily.

Faramir grinned, "a technicality wouldn't have saved my life on the battlefield Ser Jaime, you're one of the best swordsmen I've ever seen." He thought a moment, "you might find better swordplay in my brother, I've become more accustomed to the bow."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said tersely, "now we'll have another round," a command not a request.

"I'm afraid it will have to wait, unfortunately business comes before pleasure" Jaime turned to see his father watching with several of the other men present, stern as ever. "Make yourselves presentable and meet me in the East tower, we must discuss several pressing matters," the easy and condescending manner with which his father ordered him and the emissaries about made Jaime feel something like a child caught with his finger in the baker's pie. He looked at Faramir who had a sheepish expression on his face as well, and even Herumor seemed embarrassed to be seen in practice armor by the Lord of Casterly Rock.

Some time later Jaime climbed the stairs to the tower in question where a small meeting room had been set up. Not quite up to the standards of the tower of the hand, but as Kingsguard to Aerys and then Robert Jaime hadn't spent much time in it anyway.

Waiting there was Faramir, now in finery bearing that white tree stamped in silver trim on both of his shoulders, his brother Tyrion, sitting atop a tall stool with a cushion on it, the wizard Gandalf, and of course Father, who simply gestured him towards a seat at the table.

"Will Herumor be joining us?" Jaime asked.

Tywin scowled, "No, due to the… situation between Gondor and Mordor we will be meeting with each group of envoys separately."

Gandalf harrumphed, "I'll save you the trouble, they will promise you the moon and everything under it if you will only join cause with Sauron."

Tywin's face was blank but Jaime could tell he was already annoyed by the Wizard, "Be that as it may I would hear it from them… Though I must ask what rank a man such as you holds in Gondor to come here on official diplomacy."

Faramir quickly spoke, "Gandalf the Grey's counsel is well known among the people of the West, he has traveled the length and breadth of Middle Earth aiding us in our fight against the enemy!"

Tywin raised an eyebrow, "indeed, but from where does he hail?"

Now Gandalf responded, "I go where I am needed, Lord Tywin, if you seek to know what estates I own or what servants I command you will be disappointed for I have nothing of value but the many friendships I have cultivated over the years." He paused a moment, then smiled, "as for where I hail from it has been so long I don't know if anyone remembers, I certainly don't."

 _Odd_ , Jaime thought, _perhaps a spymaster of some sort then?_ Looking askance at his brother he could see a certain confusion on his face as well, or perhaps deep thought… he could never quite tell with Tyrion.

As if in answer the dwarf asked, "On what authority then do you come to treat with us?" he paused stroking his chin, "can any agreement made with you be guaranteed?"

Again Faramir interjected, "I am Gondor's representative and as a Captain of Gondor I can assure you of the good faith of any treaties or agreements made," he pointed to Gandalf, "Mirthrandir-" he stopped suddenly, "My apologies, Mithrandir is another name by which Gandalf is known among my people," he continued, "is here to provide the good counsel that in time you too may come to know him for."

 _Even stranger, a man going by many names?_ Jaime thought to himself, nicknames and effigies were not uncommon in Westeros, _Kingslayer,_ he thought venomously, but he took the impression that this was not the nature of the Mithrandir-Gandalf split. He looked to his father to see what he made of this.

Tywin's face was skeptical but he nodded, "that seems fair, I have known many otherwise lowborn men who have provided sage advice beyond what was expected." Jaime could see Gandalf raise an eyebrow at the "lowborn" comment but the Wizard said nothing. Tywin continued, "the first matter is the coming winter, I wish to make arrangements with Gondor to purchase any excess grains and cattle that can be spared."

Jaime nodded to himself, though the Westerlands had many fertile fields crops from the Reach kept food stocks comfortably high during the winters. While he had no idea how much grain was imported he was sure his father did, and if he thought it was necessary to purchase some the imports from the Tyrell lands must have been significant.

Faramir seemed open to the idea, "I will speak to my father about this, harvests are now ongoing throughout Gondor and we will soon have an idea of what excess grain is available." He shifted in his seat a moment, "I warn you due to the demands of the war we do not have quite so much as we might otherwise."

Tywin gave a slight nod, "We will buy what you can spare and we will pay in gold or silver as you wish. We have enough grain on hand for a three year winter as it stands and by the end of the current harvest I believe we can last through four, anything beyond that will strain our resources."

The emissaries from Gondor seemed momentarily confused, Gandalf spoke first, "I'm sorry Lord Tywin, but did you say you have enough grain on hand for a three _year_ winter?"

Tywin nodded, "indeed, we may have had more but we were making war preparations ourselves when this…" he seemed at a loss for words, "when we were brought here," he said finally.

Gandalf and Faramir were looking at each other uncomfortably, and Jaime wondered what they were thinking. _Are winters here severe? Is even four years of grain not enough?_

Suddenly Faramir spoke, "Lord Tywin, if you have grain to last you for years, why do you need to purchase more? I'm certain many farmers would love the chance to make some gold but… this makes no sense to me."

Now Tywin's raised an eyebrow, "Oh? How severe are winters in this part of the world? You must forgive me, I forget sometimes that we are not in Westeros."

Tyrion smiled and twirled a wine glass a little, "yes we would look quite the fools if we purchased grain for a four year winter if we're in this world's Dorne and it lasts only two, so how about it Faramir, what can we expect?"

Now Faramir was just looking at all of them as though they were mad, "You must forgive me my lords but… the harshest winter I have ever heard of is that of Erebor and Dale to the far north, they say the snow coats the ground as late as May in some years… but no more."

Now Jaime leaned in, suddenly interested, "what are you saying exactly?"

looking around the room he could see Tywin and Tyrion were thinking the same thing, but it was Gandalf who answered, "A winter in Middle Earth may last as little as a month or as long as six depending on where you are, when these lands were empty winters here lasted three to four months, from November through February." The wizard stroked his beard, "truthfully I cannot imagine a winter lasting for years in any land where men and elves dwell, though in my travels I have seen lands where it is always winter they are all very far from here."

There was a stunned silence, Jaime saw Tyrion take a long drink draining his cup of whine while Tywin's face was simply blank, finally he asked, "and… and the Summers?"

Gandalf shrugged, "the same I suppose, each season is perhaps a quarter of the year here, about three months each, though they ebb and flow being shorter some years and longer others."

 _This changes…_ truthfully Jaime didn't know exactly what it changed, he was a swordsman not a penny counter or a ruler like father, but he knew that something had changed.

"This will take some… getting used to," Tywin said. He seemed to think a moment before speaking again, "In any case we will seek to confirm this, but we must move on to other business."

Faramir nodded, "yes, I believe that the letter you sent my Father mentioned you wished to send a formal envoy to Minas Tirith as well? One of your sons?"

Now Tywin almost smiled, almost, but Jaime could still tell his mood was brightened. "If you would have him my son Jaime and a few others will accompany you back to Minas Tirith to meet with your father the Steward and see for himself the beauty of this "White City" a pause, "My daughter has also expressed interest in visiting it, she is a lover of the cosmopolitan and things of beauty, would she be welcome?"

 _Cersei?_ Jaime felt a stirring in his loins, he hadn't seen her since he'd been forced to flee Kings Landing by Ned Stark, and now it seemed they would be in this city of Minas Tirith together. He felt anger boil inside him momentarily, _Ned Stark, at least that's one face I'll never have to see again_.

"Oh she would be welcome," Faramir said, "the war is not yet at our doorstep and the lands between here and Minas Tirith are quite safe." He turned to Jaime, "You will greatly enjoy the city I think, it is a wonder beyond anything else in the world, and my brother will be eager to meet you. He might finally find a challenger to his swordplay!" the ranger said grinning.

 _Yes,_ Jaime thought to himself, _I think I will enjoy my visit to Minas Tirith_. He grinned to himself and turned to Faramir, "Very well, when shall we leave?"

 **AN: fixed the duplicate ch.5, Ch. 6 featuring Joffrey is now available.**


	9. IX The Imp

**IX  
The Imp**

After concluding the meeting with the emissary of Gondor Tywin had sent for Herumor. While waiting for the man from Umbar to arrive the three of them talked excitedly of the implications of a world without the long seasons the knew

"It seems the Starks were wrong, winter isn't coming" Tyrion chuckled

Although Jaime shared his smile Tywin was unamused, "this will have consequences, armies can now move at any time, we will plant fewer crops but we have a much narrower window in which to harvest them." He leaned back, "it will be some time before the full ramifications of these short seasons are felt."

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Mordor's emissary. Herumor had changed into a fine black robe bearing eye of Sauron on his breast in a fine stitched cloth that seemed to reflect the light slightly. Tyrion also noted a red snake coiled underneath the eye that was made of a more faded fabric.

As Herumor sat Tyrion suddenly had a thought, "Herumor, how are winters in Umbar? Do they last long?"

He seemed caught off guard by the question, thinking a moment he responded, "I suppose they are mild compared to what men in these lands might know, a month or two of heavier rains and cold temperatures and little else. Umbar hasn't seen snow since my father's time."

Tyrion nodded, _so this isn't some grand ruse then_ , he thought to himself.

Tywin cleared his throat drawing their attention back to him. "Lord Herumor, has Mordor any diplomatic matters which need to be settled with us?"

Herumor nodded, "yes, first of all we request free and fair use of all ports in the Westerlands by ships from Umbar, there are lands to the north that we have long been denied passage to by the men of Gondor."

Tyrion interrupted, "and what is the purpose of your voyages?"

"Trade and exploration I assure you," Herumor quickly responded, "Gondor and her allies simply wish to secure these valuable routes for themselves, many our ships have been sunk on false grounds of piracy." Herumor sighed, "many honest men have left families unprovided for in Umbar due to the greed of the men of the West."

Tyrion barely kept his eyes from rolling, regardless of the truth of the Umbari's words anyone hoping to appeal to Tywin Lannister's pity for widows and orphans wasn't likely to get very far, gods knew he'd made enough in his time.

True to Tyrion's thoughts Tywin spoke, "Of course the men of Umbar shall have fair use of our ports, but free use is simply too much to ask in light of our responsibilities to our own traders."

"Surely at least ships on official business-"

"I am afraid that if these trade routes to the north are as profitable as you suggest we will need to charge Umbari ships going there a fair toll for use of our ports and passage in our waters, even if they travel on official business." Tywin Lannister took a drink of his own wine, "As you understand if it were merely between friends I would of course allow you free passage, but a lord must look out for his subjects as I'm sure Sauron will understand."

Herumor seemed unhappy with this result but nodded, "indeed, for he is a just and generous ruler." He thought a minute, "and surely you would agree to a fair toll to all those who sail in Umbar's waters?"

Tywin shrugged, "your lands, and waters, are your own. So long as our ships are unmolested you may charge them tolls as needed."

Herumor grinned, "very well, and we must also speak of ships in the ports of Gondor such as Dol Amroth or Pelagir, as war exists between our two peoples you must understand that we cannot allow ships to reach-"

"No ships bearing a lion banner will be touched," Tywin said forcefully, "as a sovereign kingdom we will not allow our trade policy to be dictated to us." Tyrion could see his father's fist clench, "There will be reparations… or reprisals, for any ships of the Westerlands accosted, regardless of the standard their attacker bears, be it the Eye or the White Tree."

Herumor's eyes narrowed, "very well I shall convey this to Lord Sauron and the men of Umbar, but know that the great eye does not lightly suffer aggression either… but there are ways this could be avoided Lord Tywin."

Tywin's eyes narrowed, "and what are you suggesting exactly?"

Herumor smiled, for once one that didn't make Tyrion suspicious of it's motive, and began explaining, "What I suggest is that House Lannister and the Westerlands make common cause with Lord Sauron and Mordor." He withdrew a parchment from a satchel at his side and unfurled it across the table revealing it to be a finely detailed map.

Tyrion examined it, noting that it already appeared to have part of the Westerlands charted down to Silverhall, though the West coast was still blank. "A fine map, does Umbar have many cartographers?"

Herumor nodded, "as a seafaring people we have long had use for them. My man Kilerog of Khand served as my navigator on the journey here and he draws many such maps when we provide him with parchment and ink."

Jaime studied the map intently. Tyrion could tell he was noting mountains, roads, and other things that could affect the campaign trail of an army. For his part Tyrion looked for cities, noting the several that appeared more prominent on the Bay of Belfalas.

Cutting into the brothers examination of the map Tywin spoke, "Perhaps if you can spare him House Lannister could take this Kilerog into our employ, we would pay him well and surely all would benefit from accurate and detailed maps of where our kingdom now lays."

Herumor waved his hand, "if he desires he is yours, we shall not need him on our return voyage and truthfully I tire of him, many times he delayed our arrival by insisting on the exploration of some ruin or village that struck his fancy." Herumor pointed to the map, "As you can see Gondor has many cities and holdings here in the lands near your domains."

Tywin stroked his chin, "indeed, fruitful trade opportunities perhaps," though Tyrion could tell from his tone that he probably already knew where the Umbari was going.

"Sauron will soon have victory over the mobs of Gondor. The Dark Lord will need stewards for these lands, men who can perhaps tame them and put their wealth to good use." Herumor pointed to an area south of Gondor, "for our own fealty Sauron has promised us the whole of the lands through which the Harad road passes, it is a bountiful place and our vassals the Haradrim will find it's grazing quite suitable to their herds." He pointed to areas to the far north, a small mountain was drawn with a dragon circling it, "the men and dwarves of Erebor and Dale have shunned Sauron's offers of friendship for the last time, their lands shall be given to the Kings and Queens of Rhun."

Tyrion looked at him curiously, "how many Dwarves are there in this Erebor exactly?"

Sensing his confusion Herumor clarified, "not merely small men as you Lord Tyrion, meaning no offense meant."

"None taken," replied Tyrion.

"They are of Durin's folk, born small and stout, though quite strong. The Dwarves of Erebor have long troubled Sauron and his friends and allies, though never have they openly defied him until quite recently." He smiled, "though soon this will not matter, the false promises of the Wizards and their stubbornness will not save them." He looked back to Tywin, "will the lion not take his rightful share of the meat?"

Tywin seemed to consider it and then responded, "I am afraid that I cannot agree to this proposal at this time. House Lannister does not seek war, especially with those we have only just met. From all that has reached us your victory seems far from certain, and indeed you have warred with Gondor for decades without forcing a breakthrough."

Herumor seethed, "the final push is coming _very_ soon, I can promise that much Lord Tywin. It would be better to be the mover and not the moved would it not?"

If Tywin heard the implied threat he took no notice of it. He looked at the map before speaking, "I would know more of the situation before committing to any course of action. My son Jaime," Jaime looked up from the map upon hearing his name, "is going to be visiting the city of Minas Tirith, capital of Gondor with the Ranger and his party."

Herumor nodded, "understandable… though I should warn him to be careful where he treads, not all of Gondor will be safe in the coming days."

Tywin frowned, but continued, "I would send my second son Tyrion with you to Mordor to see it's lands and peoples for himself and report back to me."

Herumor looked surprised, "T-to Mordor my Lord?" he looked at Tyrion, "It could be arranged…" for some reason Tyrion had the impression Herumor was searching for sweet words, "Mordor is a land of productivity and industry, it is not often visited for beauty."

 _So it's either terribly hot or terribly cold there, fantastic,_ Tyrion thought.

Herumor continued, "Though the volcanoes bless the land with fertility and the smiths with materials the light of the sun shines only dimly."

Volcanoes? Blessing the land? _I wonder how many Valyrians said that before the Doom,_ he thought. "Herumor," Tyrion paused uncertain of how to frame the question, "what of the people? Are they fair and… industrious?" _the women, what do they look like._

"Why they are sturdy and strong workers, skilled smiths, and fierce warriors, is there not beauty in utility?" Herumor exclaimed.

He sighed inwardly, " _Ugly as sin then… well they couldn't be nearly as bad as those Florent bastards I had the "pleasure" of meeting in the Reach."_

He looked to his father who judging from the amused look on his face shared his guess about the quality of Mordor's women, "Indeed, Tyrion of all people knows well the power of function over appearance, isn't that right Tyrion?"

Tyrion raised his glass sourly, "right you are Father… I look forward to our journey together Herumor… though pray tell will I see the fair city of Umbar on the way?"

Herumor smiled again, "why of course, she's the finest port in all the world!"

"I'm sure!" Tyrion said smiling, he raised a glass in Herumor's direction, "To Umbar, the finest port in the world!" He made eye contact with his father, _he knows same as I do_ , Tyrion thought smugly, _a port means whores in any kingdom of Westeros or Middle Earth._ He downed his wine, perhaps the trip wouldn't be so terrible after all.

 **AN: fixed the duplicate ch.5, Ch. 6 featuring Joffrey is now available.**


	10. X Saruman the Wise

**AN: fixed the duplicate ch.5, Ch. 6 featuring Joffrey is now available. If you missed it due to the error this chapter is probably going to be a little confusing, you should probably go back and check it out.**

 **X.  
Saruman the Wise  
**

Saruman had rarely traveled in the latter days of his time in Middle Earth. After the first thousand years he had seen enough of the great cities and enough of the great men that they no longer interested him except as tools and puppets. Even the first born, those elven Kings and their magical realms, were pale imitations of what Saruman knew lay over the sea, and they grew paler with each passing year. He had often scoffed at Olórin, called Gandalf in most parts of the West and Mithrandir in others, who never tired of their small struggles, what was there left in Middle Earth that could surprise a wizard?

This had been before a new race of men, no, not just a new race an entire new kingdom, had appeared seemingly out of nowhere… a sudden disruption and a new verse he'd never heard before. He'd clothed himself in simple robes, white still, though somewhat ragged, and set forth on foot through Rohan and towards these new lands. Few took notice of a solitary old man save for a few men of Dunland who were warded off by his voice and the white hand sigil… plans had already been made with the chieftains of Dunland, and though they were secret his reputation was such that they had offered him food and camp with them for a night before parting ways. In this manner he'd quickly reached Enedwaith.

He remembered a time when Middle Earth was new to him and these lands were populated by farmers and even a few towns, but after the plagues and the wars with the Dark Lord and his servants it was now empty save for a few stone piles that might've been buildings at one time. He'd found a faded outline in the grasses that might've been a road at one point and followed it south.

On the fifth day as the sun began to draw low he encountered one of Middle Earth's few remaining surprises, a pair of travelers heading North out of the wastes of Enedwaith. The first was a big man, at least as big as a man of Gondor, wearing black armor. As he drew closer Saruman could see half of his face was twisted and terrible, burns perhaps? The second he could see now was just a boy, with fair blonde hair like the Rohirrim. From the way he carried himself Saruman could tell he was not accustomed to the plain leathers he now wore, nor the dirt that covered his face and hands. In spite of this the crossbow slung across the boys back looked polished and well maintained.

Once the pair reached him they all slowly stopped. Saruman could see the calculation in the big man's eyes, and something close to contempt in the boy's. Tired of the silence Saruman decided to speak first, "well met travelers, the sun sets soon and men are scarce in these lands. Would you suffer to keep camp with an old man like me for one night?"

"We've little food, or anything else for that matter," the boy spoke sharply.

The wizard raised an eyebrow looking at the big man who sighed and responded, "I'm afraid my… squire is correct, our supplies are low and there is little game here even though there's not a damned soul for miles."

Saruman smiled and withdrew a skinned and salted rabbit from his travel sack, the Dunlendings had generously given him a satchel of dried meats after their encounter, "Perhaps it is fortunate that we have met then." Seeing the rabbit the big man's eyes lit up and his hand quickly went to his sword pommel. Before he could draw his weapon the Wizard spoke again and allowed a little of the Voice to enter his tone, "now now friend, surely there is enough for all of us?"

The boy seemed to feel the effects more than the man, "Yes, yes I think there is." The man growled in response, but moved his hand away from the blade.

"Squire, gather firewood," the scarred man pointed to a copse of small trees a few hundred feet from the ruined road.

The boy looked indignant and started to say something but the big man slapped the back of his head, "When a knight gives a squire orders the squire obeys _without question_." The man had an amused smile on his face and the Wizard thought it odd that he enjoyed ordering the young man about so. The boy glowered at him and dismounted to walk towards the trees in question.

For his part the big man dropped off his horse and began gathering stones for the fire ring. Saruman moved towards the horse to examine the pair's gear, seeing this the man warned him, "Stranger bites, I'd stay away unless you don't mind giving him a finger."

Saruman nodded, "A war beast then, the men of Rohan breed many such fine animals… is your business perhaps with them?"

The man seemed to think for a moment, "Our business is our own, what's an old man doing alone in a place like this anyways?"

Saruman shrugged, "I had heard that a new land had appeared south of here with a great kingdom of men populating it. I'm an old man with few years left, I thought that perhaps I would see this wonder before I pass on." He pretended to stumble a bit feebly as he sat on a nearby log, "perhaps you could tell me if you have come from these… Westerlands?"

The man stopped gathering stones and stood up, towering over Saruman. He could see the burns clearer now, cracked and black skin oozed a watery red liquid as the man's lips curled into a sneer, "less questions would be better old man."

Saruman frowned, this man held a secret… was it worth his time to dig it out?

His voice became soothing and yet powerful at the same time, "Surely you can at least tell me from whence you came?"

"We came from the Westerlands, along the coast past the Banefort," the boy said, Saruman turned his head and saw the blond youth drop a scarce gathering of twigs and small branches.

The combination of this revelation and the boy's poor attempt at gathering wood seemed to shake the man free of any hold Saruman's voice had, "Yes… I'm a hedge knight… Ser Jacob Hill, this is my squire… Jonas." He paused a moment, "if you must know there is no work for men such as us in the Westerlands at this time and we decided to seek out work in the new lands to the North." Now he tried to make a friendly smile which just made his scarred face more hideous, "Perhaps you have heard of a place called the Shool?

"The Shire you oaf!" the boy cut in.

Saruman raised an eyebrow, Gandalf had often been interested in the Shire… and two travelers from the new land searching for it? Too much of a coincidence. He decided to make his play, "You two are holding a secret from me, it is fair for I hold a secret from you as well…"

This annoyed the boy, "unless it's that you know where to find the Shire we don't care."

Saruman chuckled, "I propose an agreement, I shall reveal my secret, and if you judge it worthy you will reveal yours in turn."

The big man chuckled and uncapped a wineskin, "The old man's gone soft, it could be good for a laugh if nothing else."

The boy crossed his arms and nodded his head, "Very well, what secret is this?"

Saruman smiled warmly and stood up, grasping his staff in hand and walking towards the small ring of stones the man had prepared. "My secret is my true identity, I am the wizard Saruman the White, guardian of Orthanc and head of the Council of the Wise." He tapped his staff down inside the stones and a blue flame erupted creating a roaring fire.

The boy gasped and the big man fell backwards in shock before quickly drawing his sword, "sorcery! You grace get behind me!"

The boy was quicker to recover, "of course it's sorcery dog, he said himself he's a wizard!" He suddenly smiled, "A true man of magic, not a maester with a few tricks."

Saruman bowed his head slightly, "you flatter me, but perhaps you could honor our bargain?"

"Your grace I don't think we should-" the big man started

"Silence dog," the boy cut him off, "I am King Joffrey Baratheon, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the seven Kingdoms, including the Westerlands." He gestured to the scarred man, who had reluctantly sheathed his blade, "This is Ser Sandor Clegane, a member of the Kingsguard and my bodyguard for this journey."

Saruman thought this over, he could tell that the boy was telling the truth… or at least he thought he was, and the man's subservience seemed to indicate it wasn't a delusion. "And what brings such a great lord so far outside of his kingdom?"

The boy grinned, something about it unnerved even one such as Saruman, "I have been shown a pathway to glory and power in a vision, I need only complete a quest."

Alarm bells went off in Saruman's head, "I see… and what quest would that be?"

Now suddenly the boy's eyes narrowed, "I must return something to one who lost it"

Saruman suddenly let all of his power into his voice, " _What Joffrey Baratheon? What must you return?"_

Against such an onslaught the boy spoke without hesitation, "a ring, _the_ ring… it will bring me all I desire."

 _It would bring one such as you an early grave_ the Wizard thought, "Ahhh, yes… I know of this ring, I too have sought it so that it may be… returned to it's rightful owner." _I shall be it's rightful owner_. He pushed the thought from his mind for a moment, _If Sauron truly guides the boy he will know my presence…_ "Perhaps we could be of use to one another?"

Joffrey nodded, "Yes a Wizard would be a fine addition to my court, perhaps you shall serve on my small council."

The wizard started to speak and then stopped a moment, _Small council? Is this fool attempting to offer me… employment?_ The concept was simply too much, he allowed himself a chuckle. "I am afraid my duties are likely too great to properly serve your grace at this time," he said, "I refer to the matter of this ring."

Joffrey was puzzled, "What matter? Clegane and I shall find this Shire and once we have the ring we shall return it. We have had little trouble so far…"

 _The boy truly is an idiot_ , he thought, "Oh there are far more peopled lands awaiting you, your journey shall not be so easy from here on out your grace." He smiled, "I would gladly outfit you with supplies and accompany you on your journey East."

The boy nodded, "this seems agreeable and I shall reward you greatly, Saruman the White. Where can we find you?"

Saruman smiled, _Perhaps Olorin has concealed something from me there… if Isildur's bane does reside in the Shire perhaps these two shall bring it to me… I shall soon have more reliable pawns in the Shire in any case._ "Find me at the Tower of Orthanc, in Isenguard, east near the Gap of Rohan. I shall tell my servants to watch for your arrival."

Joffrey grinned, the fire now burning low and causing obscene shadows to race across his face, "Providence, this is providence that we should meet here." He paused looking more serious and a little wistful, "The world shall behold me and tremble…"

Saruman nodded and smiled with false warmth, "yes your grace…" he stared into the flames, thinking of things to come.


	11. XI The Second Son

**XI.  
The Second Son  
**

It hadn't taken Faramir long to decide he much preferred the company of the younger Lannister brother. In spite of the little man's sometimes… unsavory tastes Faramir had come to appreciate his wit and informal attitude for one born so high. Once word had reached him that Tyrion was supposed to travel to Mordor with the Umbari party he and Gandalf had beseeched Lord Tywin to send Tyrion with them instead and perhaps send a lesser servant to Mordor, but the Old Lion had refused. "I cannot honor Gondor with the presence of the Lannister family while dishonoring Mordor with it's absence" he'd said. Faramir sighed, instead he now traveled with Jaime Lannister, a man who reminded him of Boromir without the bits of wisdom and modesty that made his brother bearable on his worst days.

They were traveling together now through the rolling green hills of Western Gondor. Gandalf had raced ahead on his own steed, apologizing but saying he had "urgent business." Jaime's father had sent twenty of the Redcloaks, the personal guards of House Lannister, led by a knight named Adam Marbrand. Faramir had not spoken with him at length but found him and most of the Lannister men agreeable enough.

"Perhaps once we've arrived in Minas Tirith Marbrand and I will show you how to properly joust," the object of his thoughts said, "I find it shocking that a captain in the army of a nation like Gondor cannot fight from horseback like a true knight,"

Faramir shrugged, "we rarely fight the armies of Mordor on open plains in Ithilien. Imrahil, prince of Dol Amroth, is said to be skilled with the lance, as are his knights."

Jaime suddenly was intrigued, he knew enough of the route to know they would be passing by Dol Amroth soon enough, "I see, and does this prince Imrahil joust?"

"I have never heard such," Faramir responded, "the knights of Gondor have been at war for some years now and there are few with the time and wealth to host grand tournaments like this King Robert you speak of." His thoughts darkened suddenly, "In any case our enemies rarely come against us on horseback so we focus our efforts on countering other threats."

Jaime raised an eyebrow, "Surely any force that comes against mounted men with none of their own will be cut to pieces… what does Mordor bring to counter your knights?"

Faramir thought a moment, how to explain a troll or an Oliphaunt to one who had never seen them? He decided to start with what the Westerman would understand, "Forgive me for misrepresenting our foes… they do sometimes come mounted, though without the skill that the Rohirrim or your Westermen display. The Wainriders of old came in chariots, and today the Variags know the stirrup."

Jaime seemed to consider this, "and the lance? Do these Variags practice it?"

"No" Faramir said, "they normally fight as horse archers, striking at us and then falling back. My rangers have greater reach than they, though they seldom come so far west anymore."

Jaime smiled, "so my father spoke true, your men are superior warriors to Mordor's."

Faramir nodded but did not return the smile, "indeed we are, but the enemy outnumbers us greatly, and more than men serve him."

Now Jaime laughed, "I suppose the Grumpkins and Snarks are in his employ too?"

Faramir did not return the laugh, "I know nothing of Grumpkins and Snarks, but the Orcs are quite real, they are a horrid deformed race, nearly animals in their demeanor and more savage than such on the battlefield."

Jamie frowned, "surely you exaggerate…"

Faramir shook his head, "no, they are not men in any sense, they are said to be long lived… but I have rarely encountered the same one twice."

Jaime was interested now, "and in the art of war, how do they fare against your men?"

Faramir's teeth bared, for he hated the Orc and all it stood for, "If you must know Jaime Lannister the orc is not a threat except for it's numbers. They are a foul and wretched race. Orcs are small to start with, greedy and cruel. The Uruks, their officers, are bigger, nearly as tall as men, but still cowardly." He smiled viciously, and he could tell that it put the Lannister envoy off guard, "the only good I will say of them is that they break easier than men do."

Jaime was taken aback by the hatred in Faramir's voice, but still he asked, "and what about these trolls I've heard so much of? What role do they play?"

Faramir's grin faded, "they are large creatures, perhaps twice as tall as even the tallest man."

"surely you've met Gregor Clegane-" Jaime interrupted

"Aye, even him." Faramir cut Jaime off, "A troll is a fel creature of the enemy… I have spoken with your brother, the imp-"

"He doesn't like that name," Jaime protested.

Faramir chuckled, "fair enough, I've come to appreciate your brother's thoughts and wit, but from what he tells me the men of the Westerlands have never faced a troll. They are great creatures in the shape of men, with stony hides fit to bend lances. They must be slain with swords or arrows."

Jaime was taking him seriously now, "I see… and how many of them have you slain?"

Faramir thought for a moment, "Three, two cave trolls who were smaller than most and one of the Hill Trolls of the far north, those who do not fear the sun."

Suddenly Jaime's mirth returned, "They fear the sun? Like the- "

"Yes," Faramir replied, deadly serious. "They feel pain in the sunlight, the lesser ones will outright turn to stone. For this reason they mostly come at night... mostly"

Jaime was shocked, "You're serious, you've truly fought these things."

Faramir was grim, "they are more common in the Misty Mountains and to the North, but I fear the enemy may be breeding them for war."

The conversation was interrupted by a horn blown from one of the rangers that had ridden ahead, Faramir's blood froze, _an attack? Here? How?_ The horn continued to blow more panicked now, then it was suddenly cut off.

Jaime was looking at him quizzically, "what was that-"

"There is a force approaching, their intentions are hostile," Faramir replied

Suddenly Jaime was serious, "How many?"

The question was answered by the approach of Adam Marbrand, who had his sword drawn already and was barking orders as he rode towards them. "Ser Jaime, Lord Faramir, the rangers indicate there is a force of over one hundred men bearing on us from the South."

"I don't suppose there's any chance it's a welcoming party from Dol Amroth?" Jaime asked, "it would be simply rude to greet them with an arrow volley."

Marbrand shook his head, "they are all armed and armored, we'll form up on that hill" he gestured to a large grassy knoll that surged slightly higher than the rest, "we'll be able to see them from there."

As they rode to the top Jaime remarked, "bandits most likely, they'll take one look at our party and find a softer mark." One of the men rode past them bearing the golden lion on a red field, "Raise the standard high" Jaime yelled, "Let these highwaymen know who they're dealing with."

They reached the top of the hill in short order and Faramir could see the approaching group now, he paled. They were no bandits, the group was a mixture of mostly orcs and what looked to be a few men of Umbar. _Impossible_ , he thought, _there are no orcs in this part of Middle Earth…_ Then suddenly it hit him, _They come from the south… the sea, they have been delivered here by the Corsairs._

"They're after you," he said turning to Jaime, "if we act quickly my rangers can draw them into battle while you escape."

Jaime was fastening a helm to his golden armor now, "After _me?_ " he looked at the host descending upon them, they had been seen and he could hear a terrible half roar and half cheer go up amongst the rabble. "Surely they know that we will respond to this-"

"No, you misunderstand, they would have fallen upon us and butchered us to the last man. To your father it would appear as though you simply went missing in Gondor with no witnesses to tell of this. You _must_ escape!"

Jaime realized the implication and snarled, "Oh I will ride out of here today, but not without you." He unsheathed his sword, "Form up on me, men of house Lannister!" a cheer went up from the men at arms as they gathered in formation. Jaime turned again to Faramir, "you and your rangers hit them with a few volleys, once they're disoriented we'll charge them and you can follow us in."

Lances were being distributed now from the supply wagon that had followed them. Faramir looked at the men and nodded, "rangers of Ithilien!" he shouted, "prepare to volley!" a cheer went up from his own men to rival that of Jaime's and soon arrows were knocked and pointed skyward. "Loose!" Faramir cried and with a * _whoosh*_ the first volley found it's mark.

Many in the enemy host fell and a roar of anger came from them, here and there black crusted arrows flew their way, the closest one glancing off of Jaime's shoulder revealing plain steel underneath the gold. He looked at the scratch and sighed angrily, "Faramir, give them another and then we'll do this."

He nodded, they were drawing close now and would soon be at an ideal distance for the charge. "LOOSE!" he shouted again.

Watching the arrows arc into the foe Jaime shouted, "FOR HOUSE LANNISTER! CHARGE!" the men shouted with him and a chant went up as the horses galloped down the hill

 _Jaime_  
 _Jaime_  
 _JAIME!_

Faramir slung his bow across his back and drew his sword, "For Gondor! After them!" The rangers drew their own swords and followed him. As the charge sped towards the orcs a more organized volley of arrows fired at the approaching knights, with dismay Faramir saw two of the Westermen fall, though Jaime in his golden armor still led them.

With a great crashing noise of splintering bone and clanging metal the horses thundered into the first rank of orcs. Whatever semblance of a formation they'd had was now broken. The horses continued through and came around for another pass, one of the men began shouting in the black speech and spears and other long implements were gathered in one part of the mob to counter this.

By now Faramir and his rangers had reached the horde and in tight formation they fought together, not allowing any of their number to be surrounded. Suddenly some of the orcs, frenzied with fright, broke away from the main group. _If they go free they'll murder some poor farmer's family_ , he thought. "Jaime!" he shouted, even above the din of battle the golden armored Lannister turned his head towards the call. He pointed to the fleeing orcs, "don't let any of them escape!" The golden knight nodded and led his cavalry to run down the fleeing orcs.

By now the remaining men driving the orcs forward had led them to a point where they were close to overwhelming the rangers. Faramir was almost completely on the defensive, blocking blows left and right without having a chance to attack at all. The snarling orcs dragged one ranger into the mob and Faramir heard a scream.

One large Uruk, with black skin and a stench somehow worse than the others, lept into Faramir with a roar and unleashed a series of blows with the mace he carried. Another orc rushed at him from his right with a cruel curved blade. Just when he thought there was no way to counter them both a blade appeared severing the Uruk's arm at the elbow, the creature looked down dumfounded and then in another flash of the blade the beast's head was gone too.

Faramir quickly stabbed the other onrushing orc through the heart and turned to see Jaime Lannister standing there, on foot now, and ten of the redcloaks dismounted with him.

"Seven hells Faramir, what are these fucking things?" He said with disgust, looking at the black blood on his blade.

"Orcs," Faramir replied, wiping some of the foul muck from his own clothing. Looking at the field he could see the redcloaks were supporting his rangers now, who were falling behind the more armored men. One of the Westerosi screamed as another Uruk rushed at him and bit at an exposed part of his neck. Jaime Lannister slammed his helm down and waded back into the fight.

"Come on men, they're wild to be sure, but they die like any man does," Jaime shouted.

Faramir followed him, by now there were perhaps two dozen orcs left, sensing their imminent defeat they began to break entirely. With a shout the assembled men of Gondor and the Westerlands surged forward, cutting them down left and right. Faramir made as if to join them but Jaime put a hand on his shoulder, "don't bother, Marbrand and some of the men stayed mounted to pick off the stragglers." True to his words six knights rode forth and cut down the few who managed to flee from the footmen.

Faramir looked around doing a quick headcount, "we've lost six men, what of your knights?"

Jaime looked at his own men, "four dead, and one man who might not survive, he took a spear through the shoulder."

Faramir frowned, "have one of my men treat the wound, the orcs often poison their weapons but we have many remedies for it."

Jaime nodded, "I'll see to it then…" he looked around surveying the battlefield and smiled suddenly, "well I don't think we've done too bad for ourselves, more than twice our number attacked and we've slain them to the man… or the orc I suppose, with less than a dozen casualties."

Faramir didn't share his optimism, "Sauron always has more orcs, and one hundred to forty is not the worst odds the men of Gondor have seen."

Jaime's smile faded, "Truly? How in the seven hells have you survived?"

"I do not know myself Jaime Lannister," he replied. _If things don't change soon we won't for much longer_ , Faramir thought to himself.


	12. XII The Old Lion

**XII.  
The Old Lion  
**

Tywin rode with his party of Redcloaks on the road to Casterly Rock. With the envoys departed there was little reason to remain there, and so he'd begun the return journey. The fall chill was beginning in earnest now, with leaves falling from the trees. He eyed them curiously and wondered if they would really bloom again in just a few short months.

He rode near the front of the column, in spite of himself he'd been looking forward to seeing his brother on the road, and his daughter as well. His thoughts went to Cersei and the royal children… he still was unsure of what role the king would have in this new world, would there be need of a king _and_ a Lord Paramount? Though they were his grandchildren the idea of the Baratheon's as lords of Casterly Rock didn't sit well with him. Looking ahead he saw riders approaching and decided to think on it later.

Kevan led the party, Tywin had asked him to escort Cersei because of her… willfulness when dealing with men outside of the family. When he rode forth Tywin could immediately tell from his face that he was looking for a way to break bad news, he pre-emptively asked, "What is it Kevan, what has happened?"

"It's King Joffrey your grace, he's… he's run off to parts unknown."

Tywin stared at him a moment, then sighed, collecting himself, "do we have any idea where he may have gone? Surely the boy couldn't get far on his-"

"Clegane is with him," Kevan replied. "Your daughter is… she is not taking things well."

Tywin's worry subsided a bit, if Clegane was with the boy at least he had some measure of protection… though words would be had with the Hound when he returned. "Has anyone been sent to search for him?"

Kevan nodded, "I've sent Daven and a small company of men in pursuit… they are pretending to be after a fugitive and his son."

Tywin nodded, "good, does anyone else know of this?"

Kevan shook his head, "We've been keeping it as secret as possible, as it stands only Daven's party, the boy's mother, Genna, and the two of us know. I have been telling everyone the King is ill and cannot leave his chambers at the Rock. Genna has ordered servants to bring meals to the room each day and slide them through a slot in the door… I do not know how long the charade can be maintained given the situation."

Tywin frowned, "what situation?"

Kevan sighed, "the people are restless, we've been thrown into this new world and everyone searches for meaning. The septs are filled to overflowing, the Faith is in a state of chaos. Septon Raynard of the Most Devout was the only of their number to have come with us and he was killed shortly after we arrived."

"Killed?" Tywin exclaimed, "what happened?"

"In the day following the Arrival, for that is what the people are calling it you see, he was found in the arms of a whore near the docks of Lannisport… an angry mob tore him to pieces." Judging from Kevan's face Tywin realized he'd seen this firsthand.

Tywin thought on this for a moment, "Are the people truly so frightened?"

Kevan pursed his lips, "I do not know if I would call it frightened brother, they have their friends, family, and loved ones… and even their lords and masters, but strange tales come from all corners of the Westerlands. The skies at night are strange, none of the Wanderers can be spotted and the constellations are different." He closed his eyes a moment, thinking. "I suppose that people are less willing to put up with the old hypocrisies, womanizing septons or ignorant maesters… it is hard to argue the gods do not watch over us when they have seen fit to throw us to an entirely new world."

Tywin nodded, he could see the logic in his brother's thoughts. He would need to return to Casterly Rock and take control of the situation as soon as possible.

The two of them soon came to his daughter's wheelhouse, "Cersei, come out of there this instant," he'd commanded.

Cersei reluctantly appeared from the carriage, her hair, normally perfectly styled and maintained was today somewhat oily, and loose strands and split ends marred her mane. "Father, y-you must find Joff, he's gone somewhere… It's my fault, all my fault… she let out a small sob"

Tywin sighed, there was no point in rebuking his daughter in this state, "Cersei, I promise you your uncle Kevan and I shall find Joffrey and return him to you safe and sound."

This seemed to assuage her, and with a sniff she collected herself, "Yes, that would be for the best. Joff's just a boy and he doesn't know what he's doing…" She turned back towards the interior of the wheelhouse, Tywin could see Tommen and Myrcella inside, nestled with a pile of blankets. Cersei rummaged a bit before producing a letter, which Tywin could see was written in a poor and scratchy script. "He left this," she said.

Scowling Tywin took the letter and read it silently,

 _Dear Mother_  
 _I have received a prophecy of my coming greatness. I leave now to the north to complete a great quest, in preparation of my return have grandfather prepare our bannermen for war! Soon a conquest to rival Aegon's will begin as we reforge the seven kingdoms in this new world._

Tywin felt a mixture of confusion and cold anger building within him. He crumpled the note and turned back to his daughter, any semblance of pity now gone. "Cersei, the manner in which you and the late King Robert chose to raise your children has long been of some concern to me, and it seems this concern was justified."

Cersei made a noise in protest but he cut her off. "When the King is recovered he shall serve as a squire to one of my more trusted knights, perhaps the company of good men can shape him into a man and not a fool boy."

"Good men," Cersei spat, "Robert beat Joffrey half to death, was he a good enough man father?"

Tywin stared at her coldly, "Harsh lessons are sometimes needed to correct errant children," he thought of Tyrion and frowned again, "I will take Tommen back to the Rock with me where he will begin instruction in the use of arms."

Kevan nodded, "quite right, Joffrey's too old to be a great swordsman now, but Tommen may yet take after his uncle Jaime."

Cersei's mouth dropped open in shock, "father you can't, h-he is so scared without Joff"

"Enough," Tywin silenced her, "he will return with me while princess Myrcella will continue on with you to the city of Minas Tirith in Gondor. Your brother will await you there and the two of you shall do your best to charm and win the hearts of the people of Gondor on behalf of House Lannister."

Cersei sulked, "very well father, but the gods curse those who take children from their mothers!"

Tywin sighed, "Tommen, why don't you come out of there and join your Uncle and I?" He turned to one of the guards, "Have Tommen's things added to our wagon train."

"At once Lord Tywin" the guard nodded and motioning to another one of the men to help began moving a large Trunk from the rear of the wheelhouse.

He looked back to Cersei, "The gods are doing much these days, I'm sure they'll find time to forgive me."

They'd parted ways with little ceremony, Tommen had needed a fur coat since he'd forgone one while riding in the wheelhouse, and soon the boy was riding astride Tywin on the road to Casterly Rock. Tywin noted sourly that even for a boy his age he rode poorly.

"G-Grandfather, are you angry at mother?" the boy asked suddenly.

Tywin looked to him and thought a moment, "yes, she has not taught Joffrey as well as she should have, now men will need to risk their lives searching for him."

Tommen gripped his reins tightly as the horses stepped across a scattering of small potholes in the road, "I don't care if they bring Joffy back or not, he would throw stones at the cats and he said cruel things to us."

"Now Tommen, your brother is a king, and kings sometimes behave… erratically," Tywin responded, though he wondered to himself if he wanted Joffrey back either.

The rest of the journey to Casterly Rock was uneventful save for the slowly chilling temperatures. There had been little fanfare to their entering the city of Lannisport, and the mood seemed to have calmed slightly compared to the turbulence that Kevan had described.

He'd immediately sent for Genna to meet with him in one of the Rock's towers, hoping to get a more complete report on the incidents Kevan had described. As he entered the meeting room he could see that her husband was with her, _Odd_ , Tywin thought, _it seems as though Emmon Frey was enough a man of the Westerlands to come with us_. His sister wore a red silk dress with a white fur trim and a golden necklace bearing a medallion in the shape of a roaring lion draped over her breasts. Emmon by contrast wore only plain blue cloth with a small steel pin on his jacket bearing the twin towers of House Frey. He could immediately tell that for the second time in as many weeks one of his siblings was looking for a way to break bad news to him.

"Jaime's party has been attacked on the road to Minas Tirith," she said, "he is fine but a few of the men you sent with him are dead, as are some of their guides from Gondor."

Tywin's face flushed with anger, "Who did this?" he said in a low tone, "who dares attack my son?"

Genna was a bit taken aback, and Emmon seemed to be fighting the urge to hide behind his wife, still she spoke, "It was a small party of men leading a horde of… well Jaime's letter is strange, he says they are called orcs, more beasts than men. There are apparently a few of the corpses being taken to the Golden Tooth for preservation and then he has ordered they be brought here to you."

Tywin raised an eyebrow, "indeed? I suppose we will find the truth of that soon enough. What more did he say?"

Genna shrugged, "the man from Gondor, this Faramir, claims that the men leading them were from Umbar. Jaime claims to have found several strange coins on them that are not minted in the Westerlands nor in Gondor."

Tywin fumed, could this have been what the emissary Herumor spoke of when he mentioned the dangers in Gondor? He attempted to calm himself and think rationally. Perhaps this was a ploy by the Gondorians themselves? _No_ , he thought, _If these orcs are truly enemies of Gondor it seems unlikely they would be able to employ any._ He thought of the ranger Faramir again, deciding that he did not seem like the scheming type.

"What should our response be?" Genna inquired.

Tywin stroked his chin, "we cannot outright attack Umbari ships while Tyrion yet travels with them." He thought of Cersei, "I will send a raven to the Tooth telling them to double Cersei's guards once she enters Gondor." He clenched his fist a moment before relaxing again, "if it were the Tyrells, the Starks, or the Tullys retaliation would be easy… we simply do not yet know enough about Umbar or Mordor to do what needs to be done… but they will find that a Lannister always pays his debts."

Genna nodded, "indeed they shall… there is one other matter you may wish to attend to."

Tywin looked at her curiously, "oh? And what might that be?"

"A man calling himself Saruman the White arrived just yesterday, he claims to be a wizard who seeks to introduce himself to the Lord of the Westerlands."

Tywin shrugged, "I have met one wizard already, I suppose it would do no harm to meet another." He sighed, suddenly feeling the weight of the journey, "Tell him I will meet with him tomorrow morning if it suits him."

Genna nodded, "I shall, I will say he seems like an interesting man in any case, though I don't know if he's impressive enough to warrant the title of 'wizard.'"

Tywin nodded, "That was my impression of the one I met as well, a wise and well traveled man to be sure. One who perhaps knew a few tricks, but little else." _Saruman the White,_ he thought, _if Gondor has a wizard perhaps the Westerlands needs one of it's own._


	13. XIII Saruman the Wise

**XIII  
Saruman the Wise**

Saruman's trip through the Westerlands had been uneventful at first. The Banefort was impressive enough he supposed, but he'd seen much in Middle Earth and another castle wasn't what he'd left Isengard to see. The next settlement he'd found on the road had been the Crag, where the Banefort had been unimpressive the seat of House Westerling had been an outright disappointment. It was a castle built halfway out into the sea, but it was now crumbling and Saruman had wondered how it withstood the tides each day. He hadn't bothered to spend even a night there.

It was another day on the road before Saruman finally came across something that caught his interest. At first the ramshackle collection of buildings looked something like garbage strewn across the hillside. He'd heard that the Westerlands was a wealthy realm so it puzzled him to see a village in such poor condition like this. He walked closer and saw many tools strung about, picks, axes, shovels… but what drew his interest was a peculiar contraption that had been arranged alongside a brook where a number of men, perhaps a few dozen, had gathered.

As he drew closer he saw that a wheel had been arranged beside the water so that as it turned it deposited water into a series of wooden troughs the men had built. As Saruman watched the last few men approached pushing wheelbarrows, which were dumped into the contraption where the water was entering it. The men waited for a few moments anxiously as the water washed the gravel and earth through the wooden channel. Finally one of them men, dressed better than the others in a full fur coat and wearing a single golden ring, stepped forward and plunged his hand into the water, sifting around a bit. He lifted his hand high, Saruman could see a single glint of gold. The men cheered in response.

When the cheering had abated a little Saruman stepped forward, smiling himself, "well done friend, well done!"

The men took notice of him, and the well dressed man who had pulled the gold nugget from the device smiled back, "You appreciation is noted stranger, but what is your business?"

Saruman thought a moment before giving his true name, "I am Saruman the White, Wizard and Guardian of Orthanc. I am on the road to Casterly Rock and Lannisport to meet the rulers of these lands."

The men's excitement faltered a bit and a few began murmuring to one another. The man, who by now Saruman came to guess was in charge of the operation, spoke quickly to ease the tension, "Well Saruman the White, I don't know anything about Wizards, and I've never heard of a place called Orthanc either, but I think we can afford an extra cot and an extra meal tonight even if you're just an old man having a laugh at us." The men around the leader chuckled, "After all boys" he continued with a gesture toward the gold, "there's bound to be more where this came from eh?" A jubilant yell went up before the men began to disperse back to their shacks and tents

Saruman watched them go before turning to the leader, he sweetened his voice ever so slightly, "this device, how does it sift the gold?"

The man eagerly explained, "It's called a Long Tommen, after one of the old Lannister kings you see. Gold nuggets, like this one here" he held out the gold again for Saruman's inspection, "they're heavy see? If you make an earthen slurry and shake everything up they fall to the bottom."

Saruman nodded, the dwarves had similar techniques he'd heard of, though with less refinement than the apparatus here, "and these ridges at the bottom of the trough, what are they for?"

The man pointed to the water, still running over the riffles, "that causes a little eddy in the water, swirls things up and gives the heavy stuff time to fall down and the lighter stuff time to move downstream."

Saruman smiled, "clever, very clever… but it seems as though larger rocks and debris would quickly build up over a long workday."

The lead miner shrugged, "we've got enough spare hands to dig out the rocks and roots."

Now Saruman frowned, unhappy with this answer. "No, there's a better way I think." He walked around to the side of the Long Tommen to where the water entered the trough. "What if you were to put a steel grille here to catch larger pieces?" His analytical side was taking over now, "and here, if you were to narrow the channel and lengthen it perhaps you might be able to filter heavier objects…"

The man laughed, "I like these ideas… Saruman was it? But the workday's over, the men deserve a bit of a reward so we've opened a few bottles of fine wine and a barrel of mead."

Saruman sighed, even here men's lack of vision held them back _Orcs would not need to break for celebration,_ he thought to himself. "Very well, if I am to be your guest lead on," he said reluctantly.

Talking to the men he soon found that the miners were there on the orders of the Westerling family, the owners of the ruined Crag which Saruman had already passed. The man commanding them was Ser Donal Lugh, a landed knight of some local fame.

"You see Lord Saruman normally we wouldn't be mining like this so close to winter," Lugh said as he passed the Wizard a cup filled with a warm spiced mead, "but Lord Gawen's head this rumor that since the Arrival winter is only supposed to last a few months."

The Wizard nodded, he'd already heard tales of the years long winters the Westerlands were accustomed to, and though the subject had intrigued him he had decided that whatever curse might have caused it had not arrived with them… still he wondered, "So this Lord Gawen would bet his family's fortune and reputation on that rumor?"

Hugh snorted, "fortune? The Westerlings don't have much of one left, and their reputation is long gone." Now he grimaced, "truth be told the house was about at their end, if we can produce gold through the next few months while everyone else is huddled up for a winter that's not coming we might make enough that Lord Gawen can at least repair the Crag."

Saruman liked this line of thought, it was bold and given what he knew of winter in Middle Earth it was likely to pay off. The night at the camp had been enjoyable, the men sat around the fire drinking and telling tales from Westeros, and Saruman didn't know if it was the mead or the men's urging that finally drove him to it, but he lifted his staff high and fired three great blue bursts of flame into the sky to much cheering and applause.

The next day he departed early before the men had awoken. Now that he was looking for them he saw signs everywhere of mines and working towns. Some were merely abandoned wooden shacks where mines had once stood, others were small operations, perhaps a single family panning for gold by a stream.

Though small abandoned towns seemed common he soon came across a much larger structure, a ruined castle by the looks of it. The walls were pulled down and a river ran over the surface of the land through the courtyard. Squinting Saruman could see that a nearby river had been diverted to flow over the land the castle stood on… _Odd_ , he thought, _what good would that do a besieging army?_

As if in answer to his thoughts someone spoke, "That's Castamere, the old Reyne's castle"

He turned to see a peasant with a sack full of corn slung across his back, "I see, and what happened to it?" he asked, he didn't bother to enchant his voice this time.

The farmer spat, "Tywin Lannister's what happened, you see the Reynes used to rule all these lands, got to thinking they didn't need to be taking orders from Casterly Rock."

Saruman nodded, by now he'd heard _The Rains of Castamere_ , "So this castle was destroyed as a statement then?"

"Not just a statement," the farmer pointed to the land, "Most of the castle was underground, when the Lannisters took the top levels they decided to drown the Reyne's out like rats rather than fight through the tunnels, didn't leave any of 'em alive."

Saruman was silent, he was unused to armies of men showing such brutality, even in wartime the Easterlings and Corsairs were known to allow some measure of surrender, even if only to be sold into slavery. He thanked the peasant for the information and continued on his way. This Tywin Lannister was a harsh and brutal man, far more so than any lord Saruman knew save Sauron himself.

As he walked he mulled this information over, though lord Tywin was brutal he had perhaps saved his realm from splintering… a few hundred deaths to keep a kingdom together? Ultimately Saruman decided to himself that it was worth it, he had seen what had happened in the north when the Kingdom of Arnor had split. What was a strong kingdom united was easily overrun by the forces of the Witch King when divided.

As his journey progressed he learned more of the Westerlands, they rivaled the Dwarves in their love of mining, and their recent history was full of such ruthless pragmatism as the destruction of house Reyne. Saruman felt a certain sense of… well not quite admiration, but something. Was this why Gandalf spent so much time among the Shirefolk? Did he feel these feelings for them? Saruman smiled to himself, when everything was… settled, he would perhaps take another journey here. Westermen would be model subjects for matters too delicate for orcs.

He came at last to Casterly Rock on the outskirts of the great city of Lannisport, a sprawling port town overseen by the great citadel of the Lannister family. His voice was enough to get him an audience with Genna Lannister, the ruling matriarch of the city in Tywin's absence. She had been intrigued enough by his tale to offer him lodgings until the lion lord returned, and Saruman had wanted time to explore the Rock in any case. He'd spent a day talking with the miners in the lowest levels and watching the great chain elevators that carried gold to the surface.

Finally the meeting with the eldest Lannister arrived. The wizard entered an audience chamber near the edge of the Rock where a brilliant stained glass window faced the sea, the light coming in was spectacular and Saruman knew that at sunset it would be breathtaking. It depicted what appeared to be a rendition of Lannisport and the Rock with a roaring golden lion on a red background above both where the sun might've been.

The lion lord sat below this masterpiece on a throne that looked simple at first but as he approached Saruman realized it was in fact golden itself. There sat a bald and broad shouldered yet wiry man, with golden side whiskers that made the Wizard think of the animal that was the house sigil. His green eyes watched Saruman, a cold and calculating gaze.

"Welcome to the seat of House Lannister, Saruman the White, peer of Gandalf the Grey I presume?"

Saruman nodded smiling, "Yes, I know Gandalf well." Inwardly he fumed, Gandalf had come before him. He had long suspected that the other Wizard was aware of his plans, and he had several spies watching him… why had none reported this? "Gandalf is an old friend and one of my few true peers in our arts."

Tywin stroked his chin, "yes, he seemed quite learned in the people's and lands of middle earth." He leaned back again, "but enough of Gandalf, what brings another Wizard to treat with me?"

"To see the wonders of this new kingdom, as Gandalf did, and to offer counsel to any who would wish it on the matters of Middle Earth and it's peoples." The wizard tapped his staff lightly to the ground and the orb at the top began to glow brightly. The several guards arranged about the room looked to Lord Tywin, who held up a hand signaling for them to let the Wizard continue. "Gandalf will have told you some I am sure, but he is sometimes… soft, when he shouldn't be. Middle Earth has many dangers." A small dragon of smoke and fire flew forth from the top of the staff, the guards now panicked and several drew swords. Tywin just stared that same icy stare, even as the dragon flew towards him and then vanished into thin air.

"Are you trying to tell me there are dragons here?" The lion lord asked unimpressed, "we had as much in Westeros, long dead by my time, but there were rumors that some still yet existed in the far corners of the world."

Saruman frowned, "dragons are but one of the dangers I spoke of, it seems that your people do not know proper respect of orcs, trolls, or many of the other, more powerful servants of the Dark Lord… nor for wizards it seems."

Tywin's face turned grim, he stood up and slowly and deliberately walked down the steps from his throne to the Wizard until they stood face to face, "I have met two wizards now, if there is some proper respect that you think is lacking please point it out." The next words came like daggers, "I believe all warranted honors have been given."

The room darkened even as the light came through the great window, and Saruman's voice grew low and cold, "Do not take me for some cheap conjuror of tricks, Tywin Lannister." The room's light slowly returned, and from the look in his eyes Saruman knew he had sent his message, even if the Lord of Casterly Rock was trying to hide his awe.

"Well you did not come here to show me tricks, cheap or otherwise," The Old Lion finally replied, "I have a few matters where the counsel of a wizened man from middle earth would do much good," he turned to a guard, "send for Archmaester Perestan."

He motioned for the Wizard to follow him over to a table on the side of the chamber where a map was laid out of the Westerlands and Middle Earth as far as Erebor. "The order of the Citadel, Maesters to the common people, are a group of learned men who provide counsel to rulers and keep the ravens which carry our messages."

Saruman nodded, "I have seen these, remarkable birds."

"I suppose to those who don't know of them they must seem impressive, but even the smartest birds can only go between a few locations."

Tywin was interrupted by a short robed man who Saruman took to be Archmaester Perestan, the Wizard noted he was wearing a strange chain of many metals, "Lord Lannister," he spoke, "have you decided to agree to our proposal?"

Tywin nodded, "I have, this is Saruman the White, a wizard of middle earth… I would have you explain your plan to him."

Perestan regarded him suspiciously, but pointed to the map anyways, "in order to create a new network of ravens we have asked Lord Lannister to provide funds and men so that a Maester may go to each of the great cities and fortresses of middle earth. We hope to start this with Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith in Gondor, and this Edoras here in Rohan."

Tywin turned to the Wizard, "I am confident Denethor will accept a maester and his ravens, but I have had no contact with the Kingdom of Rohan… do you believe they will accept one?"

 _They will do as I bid them_ Saruman thought, "Yes, I am well regarded there and I can assure fair passage to this… maester," he said the final word as he examined Perestan. He was unsure what to make of him, though there were many men of great knowledge Saruman had never known of men dedicated to it, he would need to see what lore they really possessed, "If it would be acceptable I would like one of these maesters and his ravens sent to my home of Isengard as well. I can arrange for payment and protection."

Tywin turned to Perestan, "well? Are there sufficient maesters to fulfill this request?"

Perestan sighed, "I am afraid not, we only had a few maesters to spare, and there will be no more until we get our new Citadel built."

Tywin stroked his chin a moment, "what of that man you asked Genna to have held in our dungeons? Was he not a maester?"

Perestan laughed, "Qyburn? Oh, you wouldn't want him, he's…" the laughter faded, "He has done unspeakable experiments. He takes the pursuit of knowledge to dark places and he practices fell arts."

Saruman was intrigued now, _not only is he expendable to these maesters but a visionary as well?_ He allowed his voice to become sweet yet powerful, "Maester Perestan, doesn't this man deserve another chance to prove his good intent? Let him take a few ravens to Isengard and let him serve me as it's maester."

Perestan nodded and Saruman could tell the voice had been effective, though he noticed Tywin looking at him suspiciously. The maester spoke, "I suppose this is reasonable… in any case he would be far from here."

Tywin spoke now, cutting in, "If you truly want this man I will have him freed on your departure but no sooner."

Saruman looked at him, wondering if perhaps the lion lord had guessed the effect of his words was beyond mere persuasion, but then he smiled, "As you wish Lord Tywin, this is a reasonable caution for an uncertain man like this Qyburn." The ravens alone would be worth the trouble even if the ex-maester held no new secrets. Saruman's smile widened, this journey had already born fruit.


	14. XIV The Imp

**XIV  
The Imp  
**

The journey to Crakehall where the Umbari had docked was easy enough, at every stop they'd received free lodgings and supplies, and Herumor didn't seem to mind when he ducked away during the evenings to sate his urges. A group of twenty redcloaks had been sent to guard him, as they had with Jaime, but where Addam Marbrand had lead Jaime's contingent Tyrion had received Gregor Clegane. Tyrion knew that the man's size and demeanor were an effective way to intimidate the Umbari, even if he made a poor traveling companion.

Though Tyrion knew it was unlikely Clegane and his men would do anything outright harmful to him he still felt it best to have a few more… reliable men nearby. Bronn had been an obvious choice, he'd proved he had enough loyalty to gold at least, and he'd taken a liking to the sellsword. If nothing else it would be pleasant to have someone other than Clegane and his men to talk to.

His next choice had been Timett of the Burned Men, but he'd refused Tyrion's offer, as had Chella of the black ears. They had decided to lead their people into the mountains to settle on the Westerland's new frontier. With Tywin Lannister's blessing and gold they hoped to build new settlements there, game was plentiful and there were numerous minerals to be mined if they desired it. It was understood that at some point they would bend the knee to house Lefford of the Tooth, but Tyrion had his doubts about how well the clans would adapt to a life without raiding. Then again he knew that there were similar mountain clans in the North who'd bent the knee to Winterfell… time would tell if a similar accord could be reached here.

Shagga, son of Dolf, on the other hand had heartily agreed to another adventure with "the halfman" as the clansmen had taken to calling him." The big clansmen had helped himself to the Lannister armory, taking two large steel axes that Tyrion was sure were meant to be wielded with two hands, as well as a shirt of chainmail and a new set of boots. He'd evidently been trying to convince the smiths to forge him a special protection for his beard, a "beardplate" he'd called it, when they'd been forced to leave for the coast.

The final member of their diplomatic mission was picked up at Crakehall itself. As they'd been loading the ships with supplies a small party lead by Lyle Crakehall, the strongboar as he was known, approached the docks. "Tyrion Lannister!" his deep voice boomed. "Your lord father has bid me to accompany you as your crier."

"A crier?" the dwarf asked, amused, "why would I have need of a crier?"

Crakehall shrugged, "a big voice for a small man I suppose, truthfully my father wanted me along as well, these Umbari are a seafaring folk and it's likely they'll be seeing plenty of the Crakehalls given our position."

Tyrion nodded, it made sense. "Very well Lyle Crakehall, I will accept your services as my crier on this diplomatic mission."

The strongboar grinned and bid his servants farewell, boarding the ship. He greeted Clegane quickly, they knew one another but there was no comraderie between them. He stopped to look at Shagga and Bronn. "A swellsword and a savage? Surely a son of Tywin Lannister deserves better-"

Shagga unslung one of his axes and let the heavy hilt clang against the deck, "Shagga has seen his share of knights come and go, Shagga is still here and they are not."

Crakehall's eyebrows rose, "spirited at least, I'll give you that much."

Tyrion cut in quickly, "You'll all have plenty of time to fight over who can protect me the best later, but for now why not help the men prepare the ships?"

Crakehall snorted, "sailor's knots and deck polishing are not work fit for knights… nor for a sellsword and a savage."

Shagga grunted in agreement, "Dolf taught Shagga many ways of making war, but nothing of the sea."

Tyrion sighed, "very well, I don't suppose any of you play cyvasse?"

"I'll pass" Bronn said, "had enough of playing that blasted game with you back at the Tooth, let someone else be your whipping boy."

Tyrion looked to Crakehall who just stared at him blankly, "I suppose Cyvasse isn't a game fit for a knight?" He got no response.

Luckily enough Herumor seemed interested in learning the game, though Tyrion wasn't sure he enjoyed spending time with the man from Umbar. He reminded Tyrion of Peter Baelish, smiling on his face and calculating behind it. He proved to be a fair player, and his skill increased as the trip continued until he managed to beat Tyrion as often as not.

It was on one day while they were playing a game where Tyrion was on the losing side that Herumor remarked, "tis good that we play with these ivory carvings and not with men, for any who were wise would have joined me already."

Tyrion frowned, "I don't suppose you're talking about the game are you?"

Herumor grinned, "no I am not. The hammer is going to fall soon, Gondor has avoided it's doom because the Dark Lord has not given them his full attention."

He gestured at the board, "playing out a losing match is a sporting thing to do, but in war men do better to go for the winning side." He studied the board and moved his dragon close to Tyrion's king. "Sauron will soon rule middle earth, the men of the Westerlands would do well to join with him lest his attentions turn your way. He will not be content to let a corner of the world be free of his dominion even if you seek no quarrel with him."

Tyrion moved a catapult, "A man who deals in such absolutes will find himself with many enemies he could've otherwise avoided, powerful men do not like to be troubled in such a manner."

Herumor stroked his chin, "Sauron is no man, the normal rules of politics and war do not apply to him."

Tyrion thought on this, "if not a man what is Sauron exactly?"

Herumor smiled, "he is many things, the greatest of Melkor's prophets and servants, the forger of the rings of power, and master of middle earth until the day until Melkor returns from the great void. He guided the people of Numenor before the Valar destroyed it in their jealousy. He returned in my father's time and we threw off the shackles of Gondor to follow him again."

Tyrion continued studying the board, "so Sauron is like our Seven then? A god worshipped?"

Herumor shrugged, "I do not know of your Seven, but Sauron is not a god in the same sense as Melkor… rather he is a powerful spirit, the herald of a greater being."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, "I suppose my original question stands, do people see Sauron walk the streets or is he only heard in prayers?"

Herumor seemed annoyed at the implication, "Sauron lacks physical form now, but his great eye has returned at the top of the Barad-Dur. When the one ring is recovered he shall walk among us again. Until then the nine Nazgul ferry messages for him."

Now Tyrion was beginning to get skeptical, "so the Nazgul are his priests then, men ordained in his worship?"

Herumor paused, "Not men anymore, like Sauron they are now deathless." He shuddered, "I have met one of them, Khamul the Easterling, second of their number. They have an unnatural air about them, one knows instantly that they are beyond this world."

Tyrion finally found his opening, with Herumor's dragon so far on his side of the board his king was exposed. "Victory in two," Tyrion announced. "Even when you have all but won it is still important to protect your rear weaknesses."

Herumor scowled looking at the pieces, he reached for his king and tipped it over with the tip of his finger. "Wars are seldom easily won by a masterstroke such as that, do you think a small man with a clever plan will be the undoing of Sauron the Great?"

Tyrion shrugged, "well if he'd like to play cyvasse I'll try."

After a few more days of sailing they reached Umbar, it was an impressive city with a great white tower overlooking the harbor. The architecture and dress of the people reminded Tyrion of Dorne. He turned to Herumor, "who rules here in Sauron's name?"

Herumor pointed to the tower, "the Two dwell there, I suspect you will be meeting them later."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, "two lords? How do they make decisions?"

The black numenorean shrugged, "Officially one manages the affairs of the city while the other commands our armies and fleets as Captain of the Haven. In truth both have the same amount of authority over all matters, Umbar has always had two rulers whenever she has been free of Gondor. I myself am named for one of our lords of old."

Lyle Crakehall walked up from behind them, "begging your pardon Lord Tyrion, should I start the crying?"

Tyrion sighed, "I suppose if you must."

Crakehall walked to the ship's ramp and in his deep booming voice bellowed loudly, "Presenting Lord Tyrion Lannister, Son of Tywin Lannister, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands."

Everyone at the docks had stopped to see this foreign lord's arrival. A small procession approached their boat lead by a man in shining black armor He looked much like Herumor, except where the emissary had jet black hair this man was as blond as any scion of the Lannister family. "Well met Lord Tyrion, I am Fuinor, Captain of the Haven and of the Two."

Tyrion smiled, "well met indeed, I am pleased to greet you on behalf of my father Lord Tywin and our King Joffrey Baratheon, first of his name." His eyes drew close to a group of tanned women wearing bronzed smallclothes, a few dangling red cloths, and nothing else. "And who are these lovely ladies?"

Fuinor grinned, "You will find we are not so strict with certain things as our wayward cousins in Gondor. These lovely ladies are to be your escorts and will room with you and your men."

Tyrion's small smile became a wide grin, "Well that _is_ good to hear! You must remind me to return this favor if ever your countrymen come to the West."

Shagga roared with approval and ran down to sweep up one of the young women who giggled loudly as he slung her over his shoulder. "Shagga will take his chambers now."

Crakehall laughed, a great sound like a kettle drum being struck, "As much as we're all looking forward to it let's take a look around first." He turned to Tyrion, "I think I'm beginning to like the wild man."

A pair of the girls stepped forward, one with dark black hair and almond shaped eyes, another with the amber brown hair and olive skin that he'd have placed in Dorne back in Westeros. "We'd gladly accompany you to whatever you'd like to see first," they said in unison.

Tyrion laughed, "oh don't worry I'll be sure to take my time and see everything." This diplomatic mission was proving to be quite enjoyable after all.


	15. XV The Steward

**XV  
The Steward  
**

Denethor found himself in a truly good mood for the first time in years, Jaime Lannister, son of Tywin Lannister, would soon be arriving in his throne room. The white citadel looked better than it had at any time since his wife had passed, and the sun shone brilliantly even on the cold winter's day. He'd ordered the entire citadel cleaned thoroughly, and garlands of kingsfoil had been hung about the throne room giving it a pleasant smell. Further helping his mood was the news that the party had been attacked by orcs and men of Umbar, this would make his plans for an alliance with the Westerlands all the easier… it would be hard to deny the enemy's savagery when the envoy had seen it firsthand.

He sat there on the Steward's throne now, Boromir at his side in dress robes and a silver breastplate bearing the white tree of Gondor. Word had reached them that Faramir's party had entered the city, he'd called all the citadel guards into the throne room, looking resplendent in their winged helms and polished armor.

Finally the great door to the throne room opened, Faramir entered first, flanked by two rangers, "Lord Father, brother," he said smiling, "I present to you Ser Jaime Lannister, son of Tywin Lannister and envoy of the Westerlands." He stepped to the side and a golden armored young man with blond hair stepped through.

"Honored steward I am-" his eyes suddenly landed on Boromir, " _Stark?!"_

Boromir looked around, confused, "I am sorry Ser Jaime, do you refer to-"

Jaime was striding up to him confidently, "So not only have we been thrown into this new world the dead have risen as well," he snarled. His hand moved to his sword, "We'll fix that though."

Boromir's eyes widened and his hand moved to his own sword, the guards, shocked, stepped forward, their ceremonial spears suddenly lowered towards the man from the Westerlands.

Jaime turned quickly to Denethor, "This man lies your grace, I know not what he's told you but-"

Denethor had had enough, "Ser Jaime!" he bellowed, "I will not tolerate any further insults against my son without some proper explanation!"

Now it was Jaime's turn for confusion, "y-your son?"

Boromir moved his hand away from his blade, "Ser Jaime I think you may have me confused for another."

Faramir, who'd watched shocked during this entire exchange finally spoke, "Ser Jaime you mentioned a name, Stark?"

Jaime looked to his own men at the entrance of the hall, who had their hands on their swordhilts watching him hesitantly. Reluctantly he moved his hand away too and waved them to wait outside, "Yes, an enemy of ours… to whom Captain Boromir bears an… uncanny resemblance."

Things were tense for a moment before Faramir broke the silence with a laugh, "surely we can excuse this? If Ser Jaime had arrived dressed as the Witch King of Angmar we may have had a similar reaction would we not?"

Denethor nodded, though his frown had returned and his good mood had evaporated. "Very well, though in the future Faramir I would have you not make light of attempts on your brother's life… or the mention of such terrible enemies." He sighed and leaned back in the throne, "Welcome Ser Jaime of the Westerlands, things have been prepared for you and your men, you are to stay in the Citadel provided you can avoid trying to kill my son."

Jaime seemed to have mostly recovered by now, "Yes… of course, I'm sorry for the confusion lord Denethor." He turned to Boromir, his eyes narrowed and Denethor could the knight had taken a disliking to his elder son based on this business with the "Stark" he'd spoken of.

Denethor stood up, "Well Jaime Lannister never let it be said that we are poor hosts, we have prepared our own banquet in answer to the one your father hosted for my son Faramir."

Jaime smiled and nodded, "that would be good, we have brought two barrels of the Westerland's finest wine as a gift, shall I have them brought to your kitchens?"

Faramir grimaced, "Strong stuff, but certainly flavorful."

Boromir laughed, "Brother you never could hold your wine."

Denethor frowned at his sons before looking to the envoy, "The wine can wait Ser Jaime, we have a few official matters I think we should discuss first."

Jaime raised an eyebrow, "Oh? And what would those be?"

"Faramir has reported to me that you have agreed that our people shall have free passage in your lands but not mention was made of," here his voice went low, "pirates and brigands."

The knight frowned, "are you accusing House Lannister of something?"

Denethor shook his head, "No I do not, but men from the Westerlands I presume are outside of your control have already been sighted committing crimes in Gondor. I would with your leave dispatch men to hunt them down and subject them to our justice."

Jaime smiled, "You will find my father has no patience for such men, you are free to do as you will with any you capture." He seemed to think a moment, "if I may ask do you know what men have done these things? My uncle Kevan hunted down the last of the bandits in the Westerlands before I was born…"

Denethor shrugged, "we've no names at this time, but in the South near the new border between our realms there are reports of a ship with black sails crewed by vicious men who have attacked several ships and coastal towns."

Jaime considered this, "Perhaps the Umbari are responsible? Several of them were found in the party that attacked Faramir and I and I've heard they are notorious pirates."

Denethor shook his head, "This ship is always reported as approaching from the west, and it bears only a single mast while the ships of Umbar have two." He stopped a moment trying to remember what else he'd been told before sighing and turning to his son, "Boromir, what else is known of this ship?"

Boromir thought a moment, "As you said father the sails are black, but it also bears a red eye upon it's flag."

"It sounds as though this ship bears a flag of Mordor-" Faramir started.

"No," his brother cut him off, "though it bears an eye it also sports a pair of crows carrying a jagged crown. No banner of Mordor is arranged in that manner."

Jaime nodded, "yes that's definitely a banner in the Westerosi style, but I cannot say I know any lord that bears a sigil like that… were there any other identifying marks?"

Boromir shook his head, "The ship strikes mostly at night, it is said to bear another symbol on the sail but there are no firm reports of what it might be."

Jaime shrugged, "well whoever they are I'll write my father at once and our own ships will join the hunt."

Denethor smiled, "excellent, the next of many enemies I'm sure we'll vanquish together… now tell me of this battle you and Faramir had on your way to Dol Amroth."

The Blonde man smiled and immediately launched into a storied retelling of the encounter, detailing how he and Faramir had used their combined men to defeat the much greater force. Truthfully Denethor didn't care, he'd already read the report and he knew that whatever victory Faramir may have won Boromir could've won it easier and with fewer men lost, for the boy's instincts simply didn't lend themselves to greatness. No, instead he'd hoped to remind the envoy before the banquet that he had been accosted by Mordor.

"And Ser Addam Marbrand, the leader of my guardsmen here, chased the rest down on horseback," Jaime concluded, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the Steward wasn't really listening.

"Splendid!" Denethor said, "You must tell the tale again later tonight when everyone has gathered in the dining hall."

His voice grew serious, "Of course Ser Jaime now that Mordor has revealed their treachery surely you can see the Westerlands must have no dealings with them… why perhaps a reprisal is in order even?"

Jaime's voice grew cold, "A Lannister always pays his debts," but then the feeling vanished, "but my father is Lord Paramount and I will let him decide what course we shall take on the matter… he is known for getting his justice when our family is accosted."

Inwardly Denethor sighed, disappointed, "I'm sure he is, but know that Gondor stands ready to help you to that end."

Jaime smiled, "You have my thanks…"

"Ser Jaime," Boromir spoke, "Faramir tells me you are a fair swordsman, a rare compliment from him."

The knight's ears immediately perked up at the mention of swordplay, "Indeed, we've sparred nearly every day after making camp on the way here. He's spoken quite highly of your own blade Lord Boromir," he said.

Faramir nodded, though he did not smile as Jaime did, "it's true, brother, he's one of the best with a longsword I've ever seen."

Boromir turned to Denethor, "Father with your leave might I escort our guest down to our practice yard?"

Denethor smiled thinly, even now after all he had been through it was sometimes hard to see Boromir as anything more than the eager young boy who'd had the citadel smiths forge him a small set of armor to wear about the tower. "Go with the leave of the steward then, Captain of Gondor." He turned to see Faramir about to say something, "And you as well, chief ranger."

The three turned to leave, talking amongst each other about the benefits of taking a shield into combat against those of the added reach a greatsword offered. Sighing Denethor waved to the tower guard to return to their normal duties and walked to his own work study, a small enclave at the back of the throne room where he read reports from the front… among other things. He opened a small safe to reveal a blue glass orb. He turned to lock the door and steeled himself before placing his hand on the Palantir.


	16. XVI The Hound

**XVI  
The Hound  
**

Sandor Clegane had long ago begun to doubt the mission that the young king had led them on. The encounter with the wizard had restored some faith in the boy… or at least in the fact that there _was_ a magic ring somewhere in a place called the Shire, but the many weeks of traveling had worn him down again.

They had plenty of food of course, the Wizard's word had been true and the men of Dunland had given them plenty of dried meats and some wild carrots and onions, but they were missing wine, the only thing that had made Joffrey Baratheon tolerable. He'd brought his bag of gold from the Hand's tournament of course, but they hadn't come across a single place to buy any spirits.

They had passed through a series of swamps and now were entering a more wooded area. The sun was low in the sky and would soon set. He'd hoped to get into the treeline and onto harder ground before setting up camp. "Your grace, did your dreams tell you exactly how far away this "Shire" is?"

Joffrey scowled, "If I wish to march to the ends of the earth and over the side you'll accompany me dog." He smiled thinly, dirt had caked into his blonde hair and his eyes, always dangerous, were growing wild the longer they were on the road. "It's only a matter of finding that ring you see, once I take it from the Baggins we'll have everything we want and more…" He regarded Clegane a minute, "You'll have whatever you want too dog… what would you like? Lands? Honor?"

Clegane snorted, "I doubt that even a magic ring can give me what I really want." He briefly thought of his sword going through Gregor's chest.

Joffrey brushed his hand through his now nearly brown locks and grimaced looking at the dirt on his fingers. "I think the first thing I will do is call my coward grandfather and that imp that calls itself my uncle to court… grandfather will bow to me I think, the imp…" he reached back to his crossbow and stroked it fondly, "there will be no more insults from that-"

Suddenly Clegane heard something distantly it sounded like… "Quiet your grace,"

Joffrey looked at him, annoyed, but obeyed. Suddenly his eyes widened as he heard the same sound Clegane had, "steel on steel?"

The hound nodded and drew his own sword, "load the crossbow, let's see what there is to be seen."

The approached the sounds of conflict as quickly as they could while still keeping silent. Clegane dismounted from Stranger and walked ahead of the horse. He came through a copse of trees to see a pair of men and what looked to be a child backed against a river by a group of perhaps ten… things. _Those are no men_ , he realized. They were each around five feet tall, with pale green skin that was covered in scars and scabs. They didn't move like men either, shuffling back and forth, and the sounds they made were closer to bestial grunts and squawks than battle cries.

He turned to Joffrey, "you grace perhaps we should-"

*whoosh*

He watched with dismay as the crossbow bolt arced into the closest of the beasts striking it between the shoulder blades. It roared and several of the things turned to rush towards them, all the while screaming and screeching.

"Today is no day for cowards Clegane!" Joffrey said confidently while loading another bolt.

"I was merely going to suggest sneaking up on them," he muttered. With a savage roar he rushed forward himself.

The first one came at him like a beast at prey, but Sandor's fury was greater and with a great swing he cleaved the creature clean in two. The other three that had run at him faltered seeing that, and Sandor cracked a smile that he knew made his ruined face look like a true horror. The bloodlust was rising now, and he let loose a cruel chuckle as he advanced.

"Which one's next?" he rasped, one of the creatures found it's courage while the other two moved to flank him, but though he wore full plate Sandor was fast on his feet and his reach was far longer than any of the things with their curved iron blades. He decapitated one of the flankers and when the close one rushed in to stab at his neck he brought his helmed head down in a headbutt both dodged the blade and cracked it's skull. He quickly pivoted to the one behind him only to see it dead in the dirt with another crossbow bolt through it's chest.

"Try to keep up dog!" Joffrey shouted from several yards away. He was rushing towards the group by the river where a few of the things still held them cornered.

Both groups saw their approach by now, the men rallied rushing at the monsters which mostly turned to run. One of them, seemingly enraged by having it's kill denied, rushed towards Sandor clumsily. With a snarl he lopped it's arm off at the elbow and then kicked it to the ground. He kneeled down and brought his mailed fist down onto it's head over and over again until it was a pulped ruin. Panting he stood back up to see the three strangers staring at him, clearly unnerved by the savagery of his kill.

He scowled at them, "well it's dead, isn't that what matters?"

The first of the men, a tall gruff fellow dressed in boiled leather and with a bow slung over his shoulder, cleared his throat, "indeed, and who might you be stranger?"

He looked to see that Joffrey had come up alongside him, "I'm a hedge knight from the Westerlands to the South, Ser Donal Lugh." He gestured to the king, "this is my squire Penn Teller."

The man nodded, "well I'm Arthas and this is Muradin, the two of us," he gestured to his associate, another brown haired man of strong build with a thick mustache and the oily hair of a seasoned outdoorsman, "we're rangers tasked with making sure nothing comes over Sarn Ford. We heard there were orcs-"

"And other strange folk," Muradin said, eyeing them suspiciously.

Arthas glared at him but continued, "Yes, orcs and other strange folk, were said to be in the area. We came across the river to determine their numbers."

Clegane looked around at the scattered bodies, "so they're called orcs are they?" he spat, "I can see why you wouldn't want 'em around."

The little figure, silent up until this point, suddenly spoke up, "well truthfully we don't need any sorts of outsiders in the Shire… and speaking of that what's your business knight?"

Clegane looked at him closely for the first time, he was no child as he'd first presumed, nor was he a dwarf such as Tyrion Lannister or the others who sometimes traveled Westeros in shows. No, this was a very small man, but completely in proportion… well except for a gut that would've been impressive on a man Clegane's size. He wore a collection of leathers and furs and a strange hat with a red feather in the cap. He wondered what the fat little man was doing with these rangers, whatever he was it wasn't a woodsman.

"My business is my own little man," he snarled looking down at him.

The little man stepped back, intimidated, but then indignant. "I am no man you oaf, have you never heard of a hobbit before?"

Clegane looked back to Joffrey, though neither of them were fond of reading he thought that maybe the prince might know something he didn't for a change. Joffrey's shrug told him he was wrong and he frowned, turning back to the rangers and the "hobbit."

"Can't say I have," he responded.

Arthas chuckled, "forgivable friend, they're the small folk that live in the Shire and they rarely travel. This lovable fellow here is Robin Smallburrow, he's one of their Shirriffs who we invited to accompany us over the river."

Muradin snorted, "We asked the head hobbit over in Michael Delving for a little support and he sent this one to make sure we weren't making up all the tales of orcs and wolves gathering." He shuddered suddenly, "It doesn't take long out to here to realize there's dark things stirring in the world again…"

The Shirriff folded his arms and glared at the two rangers, "well you could've brought us a body or two instead of dragging me off to almost get killed out here!" He paused a minute, looking over the orc remains spread about the ground. The sun was completely down now and Muradin had lit a torch which cast an eerie glow over them. "I'll be sure to recommend to the mayor that we take up a collection for you." His gaze returned to Clegane and Joffrey, "I don't know about these two though… they still won't tell us why they're here!"

Arthas sighed, "We have been bidden to keep a closer watch on the Shire in these uncertain times, I am afraid I must ask you to tell me your business before I can lead you across the ford."

Clegane thought a moment, "We're looking for a Mr. Baggins, you see we have news for him from… a friend."

Arthas looked to the hobbit for confirmation, the fat little shirriff was rubbing his chins thinking, "well Bilbo Baggins always did keep strange company… but he's been gone from the Shire for some years now, off to Rivendell you see… are you perhaps looking for Frodo Baggins? Or Perhaps the Sackville-Bagginses?"

Clegane struggled to keep his face from betraying his frustration, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Joffrey's smile at the name "Baggins" quickly turn into a frown. _Too many gods damned Bagginses_ , he thought. "The last one," he said quickly, "The Sackville-Bagginses."

Muradin's eye's narrowed, "Hold on a moment Mr. Lugh, if you've never heard of hobbits before how are we to believe you're on an errand on their behalf?"

Clegane stammered a moment before Joffrey spoke up, "a wizard, wise and powerful has sent us!"

Arthas's eyebrows went up, "indeed, Old Gandalf sent you up this way? He's long been a friend of ours and it is by his request that we watch the fords."

Before Joffrey could speak Sandor interrupted, "Yes, old Gandalf, he has bidden us to carry a very secret message to the Sackeville-Bagginses."

Muradin didn't seem to believe that, "I've heard a little of these Westerlands you claim to be from, a new kingdom that appeared out of nowhere some months ago, yes? Are we to believe that you have met Gandalf and earned his trust so greatly in so short a time that he has sent you here with a message that cannot be relayed to any of the Dunedain?"

Clegane frowned and quickly looked at Joffrey, the unspoken message between them was clear, _we might have to kill these fools_. He'd sized them up already, both men clearly knew how to fight but he was bigger than either and he doubted the fat little hobbit would be any use… If Joffrey took one with his crossbow…

"Oh enough of this!" Robin Smallburrow spoke up, "It's cold and the night is dark and full of terrors!" He shivered, "Gandalf and the Bagginses are always up to strange matters, I'd thought the Sackeville-Bagginses to be a bit more sensible but if they wish to play the Wizard's games I'll escort these two travelers to Hobbiton and make sure they keep the peace."

Arthas considered it, "fair enough I suppose, do you two accept these terms?"

Looking at the fat hobbit Clegane decided if anything he probably knew where to get some food and drink, "that seems reasonable doesn't it Penn?"

Joffrey nodded, "yes, very reasonable!"

Smallburrow nodded, "it's agreed then, now let's get back in the Shire… if we hurry we can make an inn, I'd prefer that to camping with the rangers, no offense meant."

The rangers rolled their eyes, "none taken master Shirriff," Arthas said, "keep an eye on these two for us."

He waved for Joffrey and the Hound to follow him, "the ford's this way, I've got a pony tied up just on the other side in the Ranger's camp. I don't suppose you fellows like beer?"

Clegane smiled the first genuine smile of the day, "why of course we do! Isn't that right Penn?" Joffrey protested, something about making the best time, but Clegane cut him off, "It would be just rude not to sample some of the local drink while we're here." He fumbled in his pack for a moment before producing a gold coin, "Tell you what Smallburrow, if you lead us to some beer the first round is on me!"

Smallburrow smiled, "well with that attitude you two are going to be very popular around here!" By now they'd crossed the small stone ford and the hobbit was mounting up on a small pony tied to a tree, "You know I became a shirriff to search for the best beer in the shire incidentally, before you two leave you must try the Green Dragon in Hobbiton."

Clegane nodded, in high spirits at the prospect of spending a night indoors and drunk, "We'll remember that when we get to Hobbiton won't we Penn?"

Joffrey sighed, "Of course Ser Donal, of course."


	17. XVII The Crow's Eye

**XVII  
The Crow's Eye  
**

In some parts of the far western edge of Fair Isle the Drowned God still had worshippers and Ironborn customs still ruled. It was in one of these forgotten hamlets that _Silence_ had docked while Euron Greyjoy made the final preparations for his return to Pyke. The Arrival had taken even him completely by surprise, and for hours he'd sat under the strange stars drinking shade of the evening and thinking over what he would do next. After some time he'd flown into a rage, throwing his cup across the deck of the ship and screaming gibberish at his crew, knowing his moods they wisely fled from him.

After another goblet further worked the blue stains into his lips he suddenly had a great urging to sail. He'd run down the gangplank and began sprinting to where his crew was camped on the beach. Yelling and running between them he yelled, "sail, SAIL!" with a smacking noise he backhanded one of the mutes who was groaning and trying to turn back over.

His crew roused, they'd set out. For the first week or so of sailing they stayed within sight of the coastline before he felt that same urging from before He turned his ship's wheel to the southwest into strange and unknown seas, looking at those endless waves it felt almost like the first time he'd seen Asshai, like everything up until now had just been preparing him for this.

A few days out into open seas a great storm whipped up spurring them forward, the crew raced around him trying to keep the sail from ripping away as he laughed maniacally, "Let the winds of fate carry us to gold and glory!" The storm lasted three days, and during those three days they traveled as far as any other ship would've in a fortnight. Just before the crew reached a point of collapse the sea and sky quieted. The sun poked through the clouds illuminating everything.

Euron could see in the light that there were a great many large rocks just under the water, though it would be easy to navigate because the waves had become as clear as the finest Myrish glass. He squinted a moment, _those are no rocks…_ he thought to himself, for he could see now they contained windows, spires, and doorways. They sailed above a sunken city.

They spent several days charting it from above, whoever these men had been they possessed arts beyond anything Euron had seen anywhere except in the smoking ruins of Valyria. Where fire had burned that ancient civilization to embers this one had drowned beneath the tides. He had several men sent down in a small diving bell and they'd brought a few coins and pieces of pottery up, but nothing of real value.

He became frustrated after dozens of these dives produced nothing that interested him, sensing that his mood was about to turn, or perhaps that there was nowhere to run if it did, one of his mute crewmen ran forward with a cup of shade of the evening. Euron knew he would soon run out, but he took the goblet and downed it in a single gulp anyways. He looked over the seas as the oily blue wine dribbled over his chin. A glint suddenly caught his eye a few hundred yards away, "There! There's something there! He pointed and the mutes hurried to bring him close.

When they'd reached the shining object Euron could see it was placed near the top of a ruined tower, without a word he dived into the water after it. He swam lower and lower, feeling his ears pop, until he reached what he saw to be an orb of blue glass, but instead of solid it seemed to have a flame burning within it. Feeling the shade of the evening coursing through him he reached out with both hands and grasped it.

It was as though he were in the clouds now, looking down at his ship as if it were a child's toy. He felt energy coursing through him, _I can see everything_ , he suddenly realized. With a laugh he floated to the land again, as the crow flew. He passed over the Westerlands, looking down briefly at Casterly Rock and Lannisport, he'd seen them all before… No, he wanted to know what lay to the East.

He came first upon a great city on the coast before the desert, many ships were docked there and floating among them in the bay he could see they were meant for raiding as the Ironborn ships were, and men walked the deck with weapons in hand and overseers whipped slaves. He smiled to himself, a Reaver city then? He would need to go there at some point… his gaze turned North to a great layered city carved into a mountain side, seven great terraces of polished white stone nearly blinded him with their majesty as they reflected the sun.

With a start he realized that someone else was there, appearing before him as if from smoke was a tall man with graying black hair and a breastplate bearing a white tree, "Ah a spy?" he spat, looking eastward. "Have I fallen so low in his esteem that the eye will not even taunt me in person?"

Euron smiled as he realized that he too had assumed physical form before the stranger, "An eye taunts you stranger?" With a laugh he reached up and lifted his eye patch revealing the dark all-encompassing black of the crow's eye. "Let me add another."

The man stepped back, unnerved, but quickly recovered. "I am Denthor, Son of Ecthelion, Steward of Gondor and guardian of the White Tree. Who are you?"

Euron smirked, "I have no titles but Captain Lord Denethor, names though, I have many names… the men of Westeros call me Euron Crow's Eye, in Bravvos the merchant's curse, in Asshai the Scourge of R'hllor, in Pentos the Black Sail. I'm fond of them, but of all the things I take from your shores a new name will be the least I think.

Denethor glowered at him, "Boasts and delusions of grandeur. I see into your nature Euron Crow's Eye, the Palantir does more than act as a spyglass for whatever fool has found it. You are a mere pirate and will be hung as such."

From somewhere far to the south a terrible music echoed, great tentacles miles long erupted from the sea and a storm to end storms gathered in the sky. Even over this cacophony Euron's voice could be heard, "I am the storm Lord Denethor, the first storm and the last."

Denethor seemed unimpressed, "terrible visions are no stranger to me here Crow's Eye." Suddenly he looked to the East and sighed angrily, "Though today I'll have none… I bid you farewell." As if made of smoke he blew away on the wind.

Euron looked to the direction the Steward had to see what had made him leave... over the mountains he saw some manner of flame above a tower, a lighthouse perhaps? But why so far inland? He moved closer and the light swiveled quickly towards him.

 _I see you_

A voice, as terrible as any cruel wind out of the wastes of Asshai, spoke. With a rush of movement he felt himself suddenly brought before a great flaming eye. Distantly in it he could see a mannish form, great and terrible. He realized that what he'd taken to be a lighthouse was a tower that housed this creature. Where Denethor had divined his nature the gaze of this thing ripped it from him.

 _Greyjoy… You have sailed the ruins of Numenor?_

He found his voice, "Asshai, Valyria, and Leng too, I fear no seas, skies, or lands."

 _Great are your skills Crow's Eye, war is coming to this world and there will be much plunder and glory...I am ever in need of talented servants._

Now he laughed, "a talented servant?" Somehow he felt himself pulling loose of the Dark Lord's grasp, "my self is my true king!" With a great mental tug he found himself back over his ship in the sea. Suddenly he was on the deck coughing up water.

"What the hell happened?" he yelled between coughs. One of his crew pointed over board and then made motions indicating they'd taken him back into the ship. He made another series of downward thrusting motions to indicate the resuscitation he'd performed. Euron burst out laughing, "Well wherever Aeron is he will be pleased I suppose, I have finally been drowned like a proper disciple of his precious Drowned God."

He looked at the glass orb which had fallen out of his hands and rolled across the deck of the ship. What had that man called it again? A palantir? "Fetch a rag," he told the man closest to him. He'd need a way to carry it without falling into it again. He smiled as he watched his men wrap it up and then looked over the seas, another storm was brewing and he knew somehow that it would carry him quickly to the East. He thought again of the city of seamen and slavers, that would be a fair place to start… He turned to his crew, still waiting for orders. He pointed eastward, "bring me that horizon you dogs!" He laughed again as they scrambled to begin the voyage.


	18. XVIII The Old Lion

**XVIII  
The Old Lion**

Even after a month of his presence Tywin Lannister was still unsure what to make of the Wizard. Saruman the White was a useful courtier to be certain, he was knowledgeable on the world they'd entered, among other things, and on the days he spent below the Rock talking with the miners it seemed they brought up more gold than they would through the work of the whip or the promise of payment alone. Still he was unnerving, Tywin recalled the day he'd first met the Wizard and the darkness that had filled the throne room… That had been no illusion, he could feel it in his very soul.

The rest of the Lannisters were divided on him, though Tywin knew that on some level they were all waiting for him to make a final judgment. Genna didn't trust him and said as much frequently, when the Wizard had arrived at the nameday party for one of her sons she'd had him escorted out on the grounds that they didn't have enough tarts and wine for extra guests, though from what Tywin heard she'd made sure he'd received an invitation.

Kevan liked him, and the two spent many evenings together discussing the history of the Westerlands and it's people. Tywin occasionally joined them, though he was more preoccupied with writing history than studying it.

As for the younger members of the family Tommen was absolutely enthralled by him, though the Wizard took little interest in the boy save for the occasional smile or small crackle of sparks from his staff, to which the young prince would clap excitedly.

Lancel had perhaps taken the most obvious turn. The boy had become quite devout in the time since the Arrival, and had started a trend among some of the younger and more idealistic knights of wearing the seven pointed star of the Faith as a personal sigil instead of house colors. He had railed against the wizard's presence in court, and one Sunday after services he had lead an angry mob to the gates of the Rock demanding the Wizard be brought forth and tried for heresy and sorcery. Tywin frowned thinking back on that day…

He'd met them there with one hundred men, including Kevan and the Wizard. Kevan had spoken first, "Lancel! What is this madness! You'd lead men against your own home? Your own family?"

Lancel had replied, "Father! Honored Uncle! The man you keep company with practices fell arts and speaks against the Faith. He must be tried for these crimes in a sept by a council of the Most Devout." He'd looked to the Wizard, "Saruman the White, though I accuse you know that you have my word as a knight and a Lannister before the Seven that you will receive a fair and just trial and released if proof of your innocence surfaces."

Just when Tywin was about to give the order to have Lancel restrained and the crowd dispersed the Wizard had stepped forward, "A just promise from a just man, Lancel Lannister." Saruman's voice was deep and powerful, and the crowd was instantly quieted. The wizard continued, "Why not let me be judged by those assembled here? For are they not the most devout? Those who would risk their lives for the Seven?"

A murmur of agreement had gone up from the crowd and Lancel, sensing the mood, had said, "Very well, but you must step out here and speak with us."

"Absolutely not," Tywin had interrupted, the last thing he needed was another man torn apart by the Faith… Lannisport didn't need any more chaos.

"Peace Lord Tywin," the wizard had said, and somehow Tywin had felt at ease, "I will go speak to the men to assuage their fears."

Against his better judgment he'd sighed, "Very well, go forth and speak to the rabble."

The wizard had walked through the gate, opened by the guard at Tywin's command, and strolled slowly to the middle of those assembled, who backed away from him quickly. "Friends, they say that I am a foul sorcerer," he laughed, a calm friendly sound that somehow had a few chuckles resound in return. "but is a Maester a sorcerer when he gives your child a poultice to heal a wound? Is the smith a sorcerer when he takes rock and raw ore and produces steel? I think not, and I am as they are, just a man of knowledge." The crowd was openly speaking in agreement now, "Is it not written in the Seven Pointed Star that the Seven bring only the just and the darkness only the unjust?" A pause, "Have I brought any injustice upon you?"

"No!" a cry went up.

The wizard smiled, "Very well then, I propose that on this sept day we should all go forth and bring two justices or good turns to our fellow man, in the honor and vision of the Seven." A roar of agreement had gone up and the crowd had turned to walk toward Lannisport again. There were tales that day of men who bought beggars feasts and of carpenters who brought new furniture into septs and widows homes. From that day forward Lancel had spoken highly of Saruman the White, and there was talk of making the day a new holiday of the Faith marked by dressing as the bearded wizard and giving gifts to the needy.

His brow furrowed, the object of his thoughts had just entered his study along with his brother, "and you see Saruman during the Dance of Dragons there was a great effort to find those who could tame the creatures, highborn or low."

The wizard nodded, "fascinating, we must continue this discussion later, on to business."

Tywin looked up from the papers at his desk, "and to what do I owe the pleasure of your company brother?" He looked at the wizard, "Saruman…"

Kevan placed a letter on Tywin's desk, "we've received word from House Banefort that they'd like to build new fortifications and they believe we should help pay for them."

Tywin frowned, "and what exactly do they base this reasoning on?"

Kevan gestured, "Well you can read it yourself, but the meat of it is that as the new northern frontier of the Westerlands their position is now a strategic chokepoint. Lord Banefort would like to build a wall across the entire gap between the sea and the mountains with a great wide gate, he says since this wall would protect the entire Westerlands the entire Westerlands should share the cost."

Tywin nodded, "this is reasonable I suppose-"

"My lords" Saruman cut in, "this is a wasted use of limited resources," He pointed to a map, drawn by Kilerog, that included the Westerlands and most of Middle Earth as it had been charted, "there are no realms or armies to the north of the Banefort, why should the Westerlands pay for defenses against… what is the expression?" He smiled, "Snarks and Grumpkins?"

Kevan pointed to the map, "I disagree, we have not yet had official contact with Rohan, and this Dunland is troubling as well. You said they were wild men and wild men will raid their neighbors once they know the wealth they hold." He paused a moment, "our nephew Daven Lannister has led a group of men North to chart the lands, he will tell us more of their temperament, but we must assume the worst."

Now Saruman spoke low and sweet, and in spite of himself Tywin found himself listening intently, "Rohan and Dunland are peaceful peoples, the Banefort needs no defenses beyond what it already has."

Tywin found himself agreeing, why build new fortifications if there were no armies to defend against? "I will send word to Lord Banefort to let him know we won't pay for such foolishness."

The wizard smiled and nodded, "that would be for the best Lord Tywin, even a rich man must not fritter away his gold so readily."

The three of them had then had lunch together. They discussed among other things the situation between Gondor and Mordor, the various castles of the Westerlands, and the lands of Rohan and Dunland.

He didn't think on the Banefort again until later, when in his solar drinking a glass of wine and reading a letter from Tyrion, who had reached Umbar safely. Genna burst into the room unannounced, followed by Emmon Frey who seemed to be trying to calm her down.

"My sweet please-"

"TYWIN!" She shouted, "brother I must speak with you _now!_ "

He frowned and put down the glass of wine and the letter. "Genna, what is the meaning of this? Calm yourself and then I will speak with you."

She huffed and clenched her fists, "Kevan has informed me that you are not assisting the Baneforts with fortifications… Is there some stratagem I am unaware of? Are the Baneforts not to be trusted? Please explain to me why my brother, who I know to be wise and clever, has made such a foolish move?"

Tywin was angry now, "Genna you forget yourself-"

Genna seethed, "Tywin I speak to you not as your sister but as a concerned noble of the Westerlands and your subject, what has the Wizard said to you to convince you of wisdom of leaving your vassals undefended?"

Tywin was about to speak when he thought a moment, why _had_ he denied the Baneforts help? Friendly or not the men of Rohan and Dunland were numerous enough to raise armies, and if he'd learned anything from Aerys Targaryen it was that friends could in time become enemies...

He frowned, "Genna your counsel is noted, I will write a new letter to the Baneforts in the morning… the Wizard, he can be quite convincing."

She scoffed, "Tywin he is more than convincing, he bewitches men somehow with his voice. Remember Lancel and the Faith? I have seen him force many men into poor decisions in this manner"

Tywin nodded and thought back to Herumor's warnings at the Golden Tooth, _men become slaves to the Wizards and their terrible arts._ He thought again about the decisions the Wizard had encouraged… "Genna," he spoke suddenly, "I believe the Wizard seeks to open us to attack from the North."

Genna nodded smiling, "Yes, that's what I have long suspected as well. Shall I send for the guards?"

Tywin shook his head, "No, in spite of everything these Wizards are still widely respected in Middle Earth, imprisoning or even killing one would have negative consequences. He will be expelled from our lands and nothing more."

The next day he moved quickly, gathering a number of men in the throne room and giving them special instruction, "when the Wizard enters the room you are to place these wax plugs into your ears, if he speaks after I have spoken you are to fire your crossbows at him until he stops moving. If sparks or smoke come out of his staff you are to fire your crossbows at him until he stops moving. If one of your number removes his earguards _you are to fire your crossbows at him until he stops moving_." He paused looking at the assembled guards, who were shocked by the sudden seriousness of his commands. "Have I made myself clear?"

The captain stepped forward, "Yes Lord Tywin, men! Your earguards!" the men quickly placed the wax in their ears and loaded their crossbows.

Tywin nodded and placed his own in, he gestured for a man at the edge of the room to send for the Wizard.

He entered into the hall, immediately noticing the armed and armored men flanking both sides of the red carpet leading to the throne, where Tywin sat.

Tywin could hear his muffled voice slightly, "The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Lord Tywin Lannister." Gritting his teeth Tywin pushed the plugs in further and spoke in response to the Wizard's taunt.

"Saruman, I no longer desire your presence here at the Rock or the Westerlands, nor do I wish to hear your voice. If you speak to me again I will have you struck down." Saruman frowned but said nothing. "If you need to ask something of me I have a page here who will provide you with quill and paper." He gestured and the young man rushed forward giving the wizard the writing utensils.

Saruman's mouth curled into a snarl, but still he scribbled something quickly and handed it to the page who quickly ran it up to Tywin. He read it to himself

 _May I have time to gather my possessions and those men in my employ?_

Tywin looked back up to the Wizard, "your things and those men who serve you have already been gathered and are being placed in a wagon by the gates, I have written all lords on your path and they will provide lodgings and stables to you on the condition that you continue North and out of my lands."

The wizard glowered at him and scratched a new note.  
 _And the maester Qyburn?_

Tywin grimaced, "He is yours, both of you are never to return to these lands without my leave under pain of death."

Saruman the White turned angrily and walked out of the room, the men went with him for they had been ordered to escort him to his wagon. Tywin sighed to himself, relieved to see the Wizard go. He sat back on his throne and removed the earplugs. He gestured for his page to come closer again, the boy had also removed his earplugs. Taking the pen and paper he wrote a new note

 _To Lord Banefort_  
 _I have had a change of heart, not only will House Lannister assist in payment of these new defenses you desire, we shall pay for the entire wall on the assumption that construction will begin immediately on the receipt of this letter. The Wizard Saruman will soon be leaving our lands and I hope for him to see some of the new structures being raised as he passes from our realm._

He paused a moment before adding

 _Though I have deigned to pay for these new defenses it should go without saying that no new fortifications to the South of the Banefort are needed, as only friends lay in that direction._

He folded the letter and took it to his study, placing a wax seal upon it. He would have it sent via raven to the Banefort that afternoon… for now he sent for a glass of wine and a minstrel, he felt like hearing _The Rains of Castamere._


	19. XIX The Captain of Gondor

**XIX  
The Captain of Gondor**

In spite of the awkwardness of their initial meeting Boromir found he liked Jaime Lannister, the two of them shared an interest in swordplay to be certain, he'd been the first real challenge in years, and Jaime often accompanied him as he oversaw the preparation of the defenses of Gondor. Faramir had left some days before on an expedition into Ithilien, this meant they would have plenty of warning if attack came from the East. In light of this Boromir saw no harm in allowing the envoy from the Westerlands to join him in his duties. Today they were riding the length of the Rammas Echor, the great stone wall surrounding the Pelennor fields and the outer townships of Minas Tirith. It had been built in his grandfather Ecthelion's time, but had not been properly maintained and now crumbled in many places.

They were riding around the exterior now, "the length of the wall is certainly impressive," Jaime Lannister commented, "but it seems somewhat lacking to withstand a dedicated siege."

"It's not meant to withstand a dedicated siege," Boromir replied, "it's meant to give time for the people of these outer towns to get within the city." He pointed to Osgiliath in the distance, "it also serves to force the enemy to engage us at Osgiliath, there we have many fortifications where ambushes and chokepoints allow a smaller force to hold off a larger one."

Jaime nodded, "sensible I suppose, but you can hardly charge down the enemy from inside a ruined city."

Boromir looked over the river into Ithilien, noting the black clouds over the distant mountains. "If the enemy passes these defenses that is when we would deploy cavalry. Between the towns and the city there is a wide open plain perfect for such charges, though we would again use these tactics to give our men time to withdraw to Minas Tirith."

Jaime didn't seem to like the sound of this, "so many of your plans involve running and hiding behind those walls, are you so confident in them?"

Boromir nodded, "there is no battering ram in the world that could breach the gates of Minas Tirith, and the city has many rooms dug into the mountain that are always stocked with food and other supplies. The city can last longer than an army in a siege."

Jaime shrugged, "The Westerlands has always had the finest cavalry in Westeros, and our foot is no laughing matter either. We have rarely found ourselves on the defensive in sieges."

Boromir laughed, "Well how would you win one if you did? You've no practice Jaime Lannister, surely even you know the best way to break a siege is not to sally forth with cavalry in some grand charge?"

Jaime smiled and looked to the southern gate of the great wall, "well if it were me I'd have my brother come up with some clever trick to hold them off until my father could arrive with help."

Boromir smiled, but inwardly he was slightly annoyed, _it's quite clear these Lannisters have never faced a threat on the level of Mordor…_ "Well if I meet him I'll tell him his brother is counting on some clever tricks to win his battles."

Jaime returned the grin, "I'm sure he'd love to hear it." Suddenly he looked to the west, "well Boromir it seems today you will meet my sweet sister."

Following his gaze Boromir spotted a procession approaching of perhaps two hundred, among them he could see banners bearing the golden lion of the Lannister family and some bearing the swan-ship of Dol Amroth as well. "Shall we go to them?" Boromir asked.

Jaime nodded, "Let's, it seems as though my father and Imrahil have given her quite the escort."

The rode towards the caravan together with the handful of men that had accompanied them to inspect the defenses. As they approached a man rode out to greet them wearing the silver armor of a knight of Dol Amroth, "greetings Lord Boromir! I am Valin Phanuel, captain of these men. When Prince Imrahil heard of the attack on your brother and Lord Jaime he sent one hundred of his own men to match Lord Tywin's as an escort."

Boromir smiled, "well met Valin, the house of the steward shall feed and house your men for the night, I think the walls of Minas Tirith will protect Lady Cersei and her children from here."

The knight nodded, "you have my thanks, we will likely leave on the morrow once we've had some rest." He returned to the column.

The Lannister men were lead by Ser Brax, the man who had originally come to Minas Tirith bearing the Lannister's letter. Boromir and Jaime greeted him politely, but there was little to be said between them. They came to the wheelhouse bearing the Queen mother at last. As if sensing them Cersei stepped out. She was fair to be sure, a woman entering middle age and carrying it well, though not so fair as the elves, but still likely stunning to behold in her youth.

She curtsied to them, "Brother," turning to Boromir she froze, her mouth open in shock, she turned to Jaime who was chuckling.

"No Cersei, he's not Ned Stark, I've made sure of it. He's a much better swordsman for one."

She collected herself and stepped forward to examine him, without asking she reached out and touched his hair, then his face. Seemingly satisfied she sighed, "not Ned Stark…" seeing their bemused glances her cheeks turned red, "I-I apologize. Who is this man then Jaime?"

Jaime looked at her with a wry smile, "this is my friend Lord Boromir, Steward-Prince of Gondor and Captain of the White Tower. Denethor's eldest Son."

Now Cersei's entire face was crimson, "I… I am truly sorry Lord Boromir, you see there is this man-"

"I've heard, your brother nearly took my head when we first met. Whoever this Lord Stark is he must've been quite the imposing figure."

"Handsome devil though," Jaime cut in and Boromir, quickly getting the joke, barked in laughter.

Cersei didn't seem to appreciate the men's humor. "Well if you're through making light of a man who nearly killed your niece and nephews maybe you can tell me something about what lodgings we are to have?" She sniffed and looked over the outer towns inside the great walls, "surely we're staying in there at least?" she pointed to the shining white layered city of Minas Tirith.

Boromir nodded, "you will stay in the Tower of the Sun, the very highest level where the Steward's family resides. Several of our finest rooms have been cleared for your use."

She nodded, seemingly pleased, "That is all very well, what of my brother Jaime? Are his quarters on this level too?"

"They are" Jaime answered for him, "Just next to yours in fact."

Boromir nodded, "we've also prepared a room for King Joffrey and Prince Tommen, as well as one for the princess Myrcella."

Cersei frowned a moment and there was an awkward silence. "King Joffrey has taken ill and was unable to travel, prince Tommen returned to Casterly Rock with my father to provide companionship to his brother."

Jaime approached her quickly, "Cersei-"

She pushed him away, "we will discuss it later brother, in private."

Boromir was unsure what to make of this, "I am sorry to hear of the King's illness, at the very least the princess will still receive our hospitality then?"

Cersei nodded, "Myrcella is with me, she has much been looking forward to our arrival."

Hearing her name the small blond girl poked her head out of the wheelhouse curtain, "oh mother it's beautiful!" she said.

Turning Boromir saw that a ray of golden light had come through the gray winter's sky, the reflection off the white stone of Minas Tirith bathed the Pelennor fields in a beautiful glow. He smiled, "Indeed it is princess Myrcella, and it is even more so from within."

Cersei nodded politely, "it has a certain charm… too bad about the view though," she pointed to the bleak mountains of Mordor and the distant fires that burned beyond them.

Boromir grimaced, "that is Mordor Lady Cersei, and it is far more than just an eyesore… though I will darken the day no more by speaking of it."

She looked at the faraway fires for a moment before accepting his answer, "very well Lord Boromir, lead us to this Tower of the Sun."

He nodded, "as you wish m'lady."

He motioned for the assembled men to follow him and Jaime as they rode for the front of the column, Cersei reentered the wheelhouse with Myrcella and they moved as one towards the gates of the Rammas Echor.

Once they reached the front Boromir commented to Jaime, "your sister is quite the beauty, a true noblewoman of the Westerlands as the messengers told us."

Jaime laughed, "I suppose it's for the best you think that."

Boromir raised an eyebrow, "Oh? And why is that?"

Now Jaime seemed uncomfortable, "Boromir, have you had an opportunity to read over any of the works my men brought? Any of the histories perhaps?"

Boromir scoffed, "of course not, I mean no offense Ser Jaime, but I've no time for such diversions. Faramir I'm sure has read them all twice, the man takes a book with him to bed nearly every night."

Jaime chuckled, "no offense taken, I haven't read any of your histories either. Men such as us must stay in fighting form after all, and why read books that would put a Septon to sleep when we can know all we need to know of one another on the practice field?"

Boromir grinned, "I feel the same of course, but what was your point?"

The embarrassed look returned to Jaime's face, "Well, in Westeros, the land from whence we came, alliances between great families are usually made through marriage…"

Boromir frowned, "so your father has sent her to seek an alliance with a powerful Gondorian family? They've wasted a trip then, Dol Amroth is very near the Westerlands and Imrahil has three marriageable sons."

Jaime sighed, "Boromir, when my father arranges such things he tends to aim _high_. My sister's late husband was a king, and she was betrothed to a prince before that."

Boromir shrugged, "Well Gondor has no king if that's what he-" the realization suddenly hit him. "Jaime I am a Captain of Gondor and Gondor is at war, Faramir is no better. I've no time for… anything of that sort."

Jaime laughed, "We truly are not in Westeros anymore."

They passed through Pelennor fields without issue, but when they entered the first level of Minas Tirith a great crowd had gathered to watch the entry procession. Whispers went up from the crowd, Jaime they had grown used to, but the Westermen had all spoken of Cersei's beauty and the people wanted to see it. Finally the queen mother peaked her head out of the curtain, and the people cheered, though she was no Elven maiden she was fair enough, and the anticipation alone had built the crowd's enthusiasm. Flower petals rained down on them from people overlooking the second level and Boromir could see Cersei smile a genuine smile and begin waving at the crowd.

 _So far so good_ , he thought, the mood in Minas Tirith could fluctuate wildly depending on how high the fires from Mordor danced or what news came from the various fronts in the war. He'd hoped the newcomers would see Minas Tirith in a positive light and it seemed his wish had been granted.

As they continued up to the final level the wheelhouse was parked into a small loading area where larger objects were brought up to the top level of the citadel via elevator. Cersei and Myrcella exited and followed Boromir and Jaime up the stairs to the White Courtyard holding the tree of Gondor. Though it had died years ago it still commanded a certain respect in the city.

"It looks like someone forgot to water it," Cersei commented.

Boromir took offense, "it was descended from one of the twin trees of old, from which the light of the sun and moon were gathered. It has seen better days, as we all have, but I would ask you not to disparage it so."

Cersei smiled condescendingly, "of course, my mistake. There were those in Westeros who worshipped trees too…"

"We do not worship-" the comment was cut off by the opening of the doors to the throne room, his father Denethor, garbed in his best finery, stepped out.

"Welcome Queen Mother Cersei of the Westerlands, I am Denethor, Son of Ecthelion, steward of the realm of Gondor. As a token of our meeting I have arranged for a pair of gifts for yourself and your daughter the princess." He gestured and a pair of servants, heads hung low, brought forth a pair of white dresses of elven cloth. Boromir could see glossy red lions embroidered on the sleeves and gold trim made several patterns over the rest of the gown.

Cersei's eyes lit up and she felt the cloth, "this is magnificent lord Denethor, I thank you on behalf of house Lannister." In spite of her earlier comments Boromir could tell this gratitude was genuine. She continued to run her hands over the patterns, "what is this? It's finer than any silk…"

Denethor nodded, "It is of elven make, I cannot tell you what it is made of for that is guarded secret of their artisans, but for friends they are sometimes willing to part with some. And what better use for it than to adorn such a beauty?"

Boromir was suspicious, though his father was hardly a mean spirited man it was unlike him to be so… flattering. A sudden thought struck him, _Does he know of this Westermen marriage custom?_ Suddenly Denethor's smile took on a sinister look… or perhaps it was a trick of his eyes.

His thoughts were interrupted by his father, "Where is King Joffrey? I'd hoped to greet him as well…"

Jaime spoke up, "the king fell ill just before they departed, he has stayed behind to recover and his beloved brother prince Tommen would not leave his side."

Denethor considered this, "unfortunate, let me know if there is anything I can do for him." The steward's warm smile returned, "we shan't let it ruin your visit though, Boromir! Why don't you take some of Queen mother Cersei's things and show her to her chambers?"

One look in his father's eyes answered his earlier question. _He knows,_ Boromir thought with horror. "Father surely the servants can-"

"Nonsense, we rarely entertain guests so important, and hosting is not the job of the servant alone."

Cersei as if sensing the Steward's intention filled her voice with a sweetness Boromir could instantly tell was false, "Why yes lord Boromir, please escort me so that I may have my seamstress tailor this fine gown in time for the festivities later." She hooked her arm around his and he reluctantly led her inside the tower.

As soon as they were inside the tower and out of sight she detached from him, "it seems your father has taken to the game of thrones like a duck to water."

Boromir nodded, "it seems he has, though since we are both on to him he can hardly win can he?"

She raised an eyebrow, "No… I suppose he can't. Now take me to my chambers in earnest, I really must get this dress tailored."

He took her to her chambers, a fine room with a window overlooking the city and the fields. "I'll take my leave, if there is anything else you need do not hesitate to ask a servant or my father and I."

Walking further down the hall his thoughts raced, he suddenly felt more nervous than he had on any battlefield in years… _Marriage, what is father thinking?_ His mind raced, _surely there is some other way to form an alliance, why not simply fight as friends like sensible folk?_ He brooded a moment, _If the Lannisters would marry into the Steward's line… I wonder when Faramir will return._ He put the thought out of his mind and went to prepare for the night's feast.


	20. XX The Imp

**XX  
The Imp**

The stay in Umbar was turning out to be quite pleasant, it was a beautiful city and even though the land was supposedly in the dead of winter it was warm and pleasant to be outdoors during every day of their visit. Tyrion had enjoyed the company of many women of colors and features he'd never dreamed of, though he knew that they were far from mere whores. His latest suspicion came late one morning after a long night with little sleep, the almond eyed girl, Mel was her name, kept steering the conversation into odd places.

"So how many men does your lord father command?" She'd asked sweetly, hands running through his hair as they lay in a large bed in his provided chambers.

He'd laughed at this, "Mel if Fuinor wants to know he can come and ask me himself, I've no desire nor need to hide our strength."

She pouted, "Lord Tyrion there are… rewards, given to the girls who learn the most important information."

He grinned and reached into a purse hanging from one of the bedposts, he fished out a small gold coin and handed it to her. "There, now let's speak no more of war and diplomacy."

Her eyes lit up, probably more gold than she was used to seeing then. Though Umbar was a wealthy city hard currency seemed rare and Tyrion had noted most of the merchants bartered rather than bought. He thought this over a minute.

"Tell me Mel, what other valuable information have my traveling companions revealed? I suppose I can pay secret for secret to know."

The girl turned over in bed, a truly magnificent sight, and lay her head on the pillow looking up at the ceiling. "The sellsword Bronn has told us that your family has a reputation for wealth and ruthlessness, in particular he described your part in the attack on… I cannot remember the name, it was the capital of Westeros?"

"King's Landing" Tyrion replied grimacing, "so the leaders of Umbar know about what happened to Elia Martell and her children then?"

Mel seemed uncomfortable, "Yes, and it caused some shock that you would bring one of the men responsible here with you as a guard. Umbari have done many cruel and necessary things to be sure… but killing children like that, it's something an orc would do not a man."

Tyrion had heard of these "orcs" several times but had not yet encountered one, though he was told there would be many in Mordor. He decided to think on that later, "and Clegane? What have you learned from him."

She shuddered, "we have learned not to send women to him. I have served Fuinor's family since childhood, he is sometimes cruel but never wasteful."

Tyrion was taken aback, "has he killed some poor girl?"

Mel sighed, "no, but she'll never be pleasing to look upon again."  
They sat in silence for a moment before Tyrion spoke, "well we are leaving today, he will trouble you no more…" He thought a moment, "Mel, you are owned by Fuinor, yes?"

She nodded, "brought in from beyond Khand as a babe I'm told." She stretched.

"Would he… perhaps be willing to part with you?" He asked hesitantly.

She laughed, "I do not think so Lord Tyrion, when I am not… entertaining he has me inventory the wares his family's merchant ships bring in. There are already complaints that my replacement is not up to the task and I'm to be recalled to it immediately."

He was shocked, "You do this for him and he sends you to bed foreign dignitaries?"

She shrugged, "I thought as much too, but in Khand there is a saying, the horse may pull a chariot, carry a man, or simply bear a bag of wool, but in all cases it does what the master needs done." She giggled, "besides it has not been an altogether unpleasant task…"

He grinned back, "nor for me, after all in the bedroom a small man can cast a very large shadow no?"

She laughed, "Go Tyrion Lannister, you have places to be that are far more important than my bed."

"Though none so wonderful," he replied, lacing up his shirt and pulling his boots on.

He was the last of the party to arrive at the gates, Herumor and ten men stood there waiting with the Lannister party alongside several large wagons of supplies loaded up for the journey.

"You know Lord Tyrion it's good for a man to last in the bedroom, but too long and you may miss out on things in life," Bronn commented.

Tyrion waved him off, "There are few things in life more pleasant than a good woman. Besides, it's not like you can leave without me, I'm the emissary!"

Bronn shrugged, "Well Shagga and I were talking, got to thinking maybe _I_ could be Tyrion Lannister, how would Mordor know?"

The dwarf laughed, "You're too tall and too ugly again by half, let's waste no more time and be off."

The trip was to be alongside the coast through the deserts to the place called Minas Morgul, they'd decided to avoid taking ships because the Gondorian navy had been surprisingly active of late, with several ships out of Umbar going missing.

"It's strange," Herumor had commented, "normally Gondorian ships do not pursue, and our ship designs are smaller and sleeker. Though there are battles our men almost always escape…"

Tyrion thought it over, "perhaps the Gondorians are building some new class of ship that are capable of catching up with you?"

Herumor shook his head. "Gondor has not come so far into our waters since they burned our fleet in anchor when I was a boy. It's not normal to lose ships so close to Umbar."

Tyrion nodded, sympathizing, "when I was a boy my father's ships were burned at anchor by the Greyjoys, enemies of ours who rose in rebellion against the crown. We have since set many watches and warnings to prevent it from happening again."

After a week they reached the Harnen River, it was good to find a steady source of water. Although it was supposed to be the later stages of winter in Harad the air was dry and the men who wore armor grew hot.

Bronn had taken to leaving his mail folded in the caravan, despite Tyrion's protest that he would need it if they were attacked, and Lyle Crakehall had reluctantly gone down to just his overshirt. Shagga, who rarely wore any armor at all, had taken to taunting them.

"If we are attacked Shagga will have to kill them all while you Andals scurry for your metal plates."

Bronn took offense at this, "I've never had the money for plate in my life and it's never stopped me from killing a man that needed killing. I've fought in a Dornish summer before, makes this look like the Reach in spring."

Crakehall nodded, "see here Wildman, a knight's armor is but a part of what makes him a knight, during the Greyjoy rebellion I crossed blades with Victarion Greyjoy himself when we boarded his ship," his deep voice boomed as his chest swelled with pride. "He wore all the armor a man can wear while I wore naught but boiled leathers, and here I stand before you."

Shagga considered this, "and this Greyjoy? Did he die?"

Crakehall was silent for a moment, Tyrion, who knew the answer already, chuckled, "Yes Lyle, tell us, did Victarion Greyjoy die?"

For once the strongboar's voice faltered, "He got lucky, the ship turned at the wrong moment and I slipped overboard."

Shagga roared with laughter, Crakehall's face grew red, "well Shagga son of Dolf, if you are such a great warrior why didn't you ever throw Jon Arryn off the Eyrie?"

This stopped Shagga's laughter, "The Andals have numbers and steel, though Shagga is worth ten of them they bring one hundred to face him."

Bronn frowned, "You didn't let the dishonor of numbers get in your way when I first met you and you were planning on cutting our throats there in the woods."

Shagga shrugged, "We did not, so why stay angry at Shagga?"

"Why indeed?" Tyrion said as he took another swig of wine, they'd been sure to take plenty when they left Umbar. It was a sweeter vintage than he was used to but wine was wine.

Over time they reached The Harad Road and the bridge over the river that Herumor had spoke of. The party crossed and began their journey North into the disputed lands of North Harad and Ithilien.

It was in the deserted lands that they met a familiar face. The party had been traveling on the road through Ithilien when a single man blocked their path. Riding closer Tyrion could see it was Faramir, smiling he called out to him.

"Faramir, what on earth are you doing here? Can we offer you some wine perhaps?"

The ranger did not return his smile, "Lord Tyrion you pass through these lands in the company of our enemies… surely you must know this is unacceptable."

Tyrion was puzzled, "and when we all said our goodbyes at the Tooth how did you think I was going to be reaching Mordor?"

Faramir sighed and rubbed his forehead, "Some other way I'd hoped."

Herumor had seen the commotion and ridden up himself, "Ah so it's the so called chief ranger. Now do you see the banditry we have to put up with?"

Faramir produced a knife from somewhere, and Tyrion could see that Bronn, startled, had produced his own, "I'd cut your lying tongue from your head Herumor, but it might stain the ground with your wretched blood. Ithilien has suffered enough I think."

Scanning the treeline near the road Tyrion could see that Faramir's rangers were in the woods and were clearly waiting in ambush if things turned south. He quickly moved to defuse the situation, "Faramir, as a token of our friendship would you allow us safe passage just this once?"

Faramir glowered at the Umbari and Herumor returned the gaze, "Very well Tyrion Lannister, out of respect for you and your family I shall… but I warn you that Mordor will not be so forgiving if you wrong them."

Herumor just smiled smugly and rode back to where his men were placed in the column. Faramir turned to Tyrion, "Tyrion…" he sighed and tore a strip of green cloth from his cloak. "If you should need help simply have your men tie this underneath your standard. We will be watching."

Tyrion was confused but took it anyway, "You have my thanks lord Faramir but we have their assurance of our safe return and in any case my father would not tolerate anything less."

Faramir was expressionless, "I think, lord Tyrion, that Mordor may be something you need to see yourself. Though I hope we meet again I bid you farewell." With that he walked to the trees and seemed to disappear into them.

"Grim bastard isn't he?" Bronn commented, sheathing his knife.

Tyrion nodded frowning, "He is." _What about Mordor scares Faramir so? That's no fear of men and arms._ He would be sure to keep his wits about him when they arrived at Minas Morgul.


	21. XXI The Sellsword

**XXI**

 **The Sellsword  
**

Bronn had been almost all over Westeros and to a number of the free cities. He'd been beyond the wall and on one occasion had trekked so far as to go off the maps into the land of Always Winter. All those sights great and small did nothing to prepare him for the sight of Minas Morgul.

They had passed from Ithilien into the beginning of a great valley flanked by black mountains. Herumor had explained that when the Volcano of Mount Doom erupted the ash would often fall upon the mountains and that the stone was white when cleaned. The fields leading into the valley started as grass, but gave way to fields full of pale wilted flowers with black stems. Here Herumor had instructed them to feed the horses from feedbags he'd brought in their supplies, for none of the animals would touch any of the plants in the vale.

Finally they stood before the city itself. Though the surroundings were dark and the sun glowed through the clouds only dimly the city was lit with a pale corpse-white light, and a strange vapor seemed to rise from the sharp angular walls.

The entire party was silent, even Shagga and Crakehall, who when together never shut their mouths for more than a few minutes, were awestruck.

Finally Tyrion spoke, "Well I'm sure it looks nicer on the inside."

Herumor nodded, "It is my lord, I have been here before. The lodgings for men are near the city center, though we will need to pass through the orcish districts."

Looking at those walls Bronn felt something… he realized it was fear, though a type of fear he didn't think he'd ever felt before. He'd feared his first battle, his first kill, his first woman… but this? "Lord Tyrion," he said suddenly, "I…" he didn't know what to say, suddenly feeling foolish. He looked to Crakehall and Shagga, who averted his gaze, he could tell the felt the same.

Clegane looked at them all with disgust, "It's only a city, and we are here to show the worth of the Westerlands." He turned to Tyrion, "My lord if these cowards will not accompany you by your command I will dispose of them here myself."

Tyrion had been staring at the city himself, but Clegane's words seemed to shake him out of it, "No. No, I don't think that's necessary. This place has an effect on men, like The Wall almost…" the little man sighed, "Herumor lead us on, any more and I fear I will not be able to continue."

Herumor waved his arms and took the lead, "Your feelings are understandable my lord, the Witch King of Angmar rules here, and he is beyond man now." Bronn could see something in Herumor resembling a shudder, but it was greatly repressed, "in the presence of higher beings it is not uncommon for mortal man to feel the limits of his form."

As they reached the great glowing gates of the city their fear didn't abate any, and Bronn noticed that Clegane had donned his great helm. _Doesn't want us seeing his face_ , he thought, _he's as scared as any of us._ Bronn jumped as the gates creaked open, though he could see no one at the top of the wall that could've spotted them and he was sure Herumor had made no gestures or signals.

Nobody was there to greet them, and there were a handful of men walking the streets, but all seemed to be going somewhere just behind the row of buildings lining the street, and Bronn could swear at least one man was just circling the same building over and over.

"This way friends," Herumor said, pointing towards the tower in the city center, "we're to stay there."

The rest of the way there was no less unnerving. Bronn was certain the men walking the streets were an act now, for they said little and the city had an eerie silence about it. Crakehall rode close to him, "Sellsword, do you hear that?"

Bronn craned his neck and heard a distant chattering, like the scurrying of a million insects, "I do, what in seven hells is it?"

Crakehall scanned the alleyways, "I don't know… this is a foul place."

They reached the tower at last, they were greeted by a man in a black armor astride a great dark destrier. Like Herumor he had a certain regal air about him, and he was tall and broad shouldered with a taut angular face like he was carved from stone.

"I greet you Tyrion Lannister as the Mouth of Sauron the Great, Lord of Mordor and the East." The stranger's voice was as deep as the Stronboars, but more refined… smooth. Still, there was something off about it, as though someone else repeated his words in a whisper somewhere.

"Whatever you desire will be provided by the most gracious of hosts," the man continued.

Tyrion suddenly seemed to remember his role as envoy, "Many thanks… I'm sorry I don't think I caught your name ser."

The man smiled, there was nothing outwardly unfriendly about it but it still put Bronn on edge, "I am only The Mouth of Sauron, I neither need nor desire any other names or titles."

He turned to lead them into the keep at the city center. In here Bronn had to admit things did seem a bit nicer, it had the feel of a place where men lived and worked. A great hall had been set up with long tables, and Bronn could smell food cooking somewhere. Seeing the servants scurrying around Bronn realized something suddenly, _they aren't human._

His startled gasp seemed to alert the Mouth, who turned to see that the rest of the party was having a similar realization. He laughed and gestured for some of the servants to come forth. Their skin ranged from a dark green to black, and they had slender pointed ears. Their faces were the worst though, with crooked teeth and beedy hungry eyes.

"These are orcs, do not let their appearance fool you, they are quite friendly to those who show the proper respect to the Great Eye."

Tyrion was skeptical, "Is that true?" he asked the orc, who jerked suddenly, clearly not used to being addressed, "are your… people friendly master orc?"

It looked at him suspiciously as if afraid of some trick, "we… we serve the master," it said in a raspy voice, "men are often here and we have at times entertained your kind as well Lord dwarf."

Tyrion's eyebrow raised, "My kind?" He paused a moment, "oh you must mean those dwarves from the mountains that Herumor spoke of. I'm afraid I'm just a very small man."

The orc seemed confused by this, "m'lord I must return to my work." He hurried back to the table and laid out silverware.

The dinner was not as boisterous or enjoyable as the one thrown for Faramir and Herumor back at the Tooth. It was some of the best food he'd ever eaten, a roasted chicken covered in some sort of brown glaze paired with a bright yellow cornbread, but he felt unable to relax and enjoy it somehow and even the wine, which was as strong as anything in the Westerlands, did nothing to help him.

He slept fitfully in the group barracks that had been offered to the men from the West, and though he knew Clegane and Crakehall had been offered their own rooms they had both opted to stay in there with the rest of the Lannister men.

The next morning Bronn had gone to see Tyrion but had found the little lord's quarters empty. He flagged down a passing orc who was going from room to room collecting chamberpots, "you there, where's Lord Tyrion gone?" The orc was quiet, it was a small wiry thing, and Bronn towered over it. He quickly pinned it against the wall, "WHERE?" he bellowed.

"The little one went to speak with the Mouth!" it squeaked suddenly, "they're not to be disturbed!"

Bronn growled and released the creature, looking back into Tyrion's room he saw the green cloth Faramir had given him. Absentmindedly he tucked it into his pocket before going back to the men's quarters.

The mood was foul to say the least, Clegane brooded in a corner drinking milk of the poppy, and Crakehall was halfheartedly trying to get someone to spar with him in the yard, but no one wanted to go outside. Shagga sat atop a stool silently, polishing one of his axes with a dirty grey rag. They did not see Tyrion again for the rest of the day.

The next day Bronn decided again to look for the dwarf, but this time he took Shagga with him. He didn't feel comfortable being alone here. _We'll be talking about my fee after this_ , he walked quickly through the courtyard from the barracks to the door. The wind blew and it sounded like a dying man's groan, _Seven hells, I'm done with gold, I'm asking for a castle._

Tyrion was gone from his room again, he searched the hallway for another orc, and when it tried to run Shagga grabbed it by the neck and lifted it up. Without being prompted it spoke, " _He's with the mouth!"_ it rasped.

Bronn rubbed his temples, frustrated, "where are they?"  
The creature was choking now and with a gesture Bronn told Shagga to let him down. The thing gasped for breath before it replied, "the great tower, they're in the tower…" before Bronn could ask anything else it ran on all fours away from the two men.

Shagga growled, "Shagga has had enough, where is this tower?"

Bronn returned his gaze, "this way, I saw the door when I was here yesterday… I think it's time we collected our employer." They came to the door leading to the highest tower in Minas Morgul. Bronn attempted to pull it open but couldn't. Turning to Shagga, "it's locked" he said.

Shagga gestured for him to step aside, doing so Bronn saw him heft one of his axes and bring it down on the doorhandle. With a clanging sound the axe shattered and Shagga fell backwards. The big man groaned on the ground and Bronn examined the door.

"Not even a dent," he scowled. "Come on, we aren't getting in."

When they returned the barracks was in an uproar, it seemed Crakehall and Clegane were trying to calm the men.

"They took him off to eat him!" one man said, panicked.

"I hear men's teeth are like gold here! They took 'em one by one!" another man said in a high pitched tone.

"QUIET!" Crakehall bellowed.

The men quickly quieted and Bronn took the chance to ask, "Ser Crakehall, what's going on here?"

Clegane and Crakehall turned to them and Crakehall sighed, "One of the men's gone missing. Supposedly he went to take a shit and never came back."

Bronn frowned, "when was this?"

"At least two hours past."

Shagga snarled, "it's time to leave this place, they've taken the halfman and they will take us now too."

"The savage is right," Clegane echoed, "If we must we can cut a path to the gates, but they will not take me in my sleep." Agreement went up around the room and Clegane continued, "I say we leave tomorrow morning, they say these orcs cannot bear the sunlight."

Bronn thought a moment, he truly didn't wish to leave Tyrion here but… a man had to look out for himself first. He felt the green cloth in his pocket, "We'll need help getting out of here, Faramir promised it to us if we bore this cloth under our standard." He lifted it out of his pocket, showing the room.

"Fat lot of good that does us now," Crakehall barked, "how's he supposed to see it? And what can he do if he does?"

Bronn thought a moment, "perhaps if we could get a man to the gates with a standard we could drape it over the wall, whatever aid they can offer we're in no position to turn it down."

Shagga stepped forward, "Few of the men Shagga has killed heard him coming. Shagga can sneak to the walls to do this thing and none will know."

The sellsword sighed, "I suppose we've got a plan then, tomorrow Shagga will alert Faramir and the rest of us will ride to meet you at the gate?"

Clegane and Crakehall looked to one another, "If that's how it's to be then…" the Mountain muttered. Unspoken was the question of how they'd open the gates while presumably under attack, but it was a mad and desperate plan in any case.

They slept in shifts, though Bronn found himself unable to get much. He'd often slept soundly on the eve of battle, death was something he hoped to avoid of course, but it was something he understood enough that it's threat brought adrenaline and action not cowering and fear… but somehow he thought that something more than death would await them if their escape failed.

His uneasy rest was broken as the Strongboar shook him awake. "Sun's up, time to get moving."

He nodded and quickly threw his chainmail over the leathers he normally wore. Everyone was quiet as they armed and armored themselves, he noted that Shagga and the standard were gone and guessed that the Wildman had left just before dawn. The men marched in single file out the door and moved as one to the stables, the black and red lacquered armor of the Lannister redguards shining in the low sunlight that penetrated the Morgul Vale.

Luckily their horses were still there, and once mounted up the men moved together towards the small gate of the central keep. Seeing their approach one of Herumor's men walked to them, "M'lords why are you-" Bronn heard a sudden *whoosh* and the thrown spear caught the man through the eyesocket. Bronn didn't see who'd thrown it and he didn't care. He dismounted and pulled a small weighted lever he knew would cause the doors to open.

As they pulled apart they could see the streets were inhabited in earnest now, hundreds, maybe thousands of orcs walked to and fro going about their business. With the gate opened he saw them all pause and glance the way of the citadel. He drew his sword.

"CHARGE!" He shouted, and somewhere he heard Crakehall and Clegane echo his words. The orcs were unprepared for a fight and easily scattered, the party ran down any that stood in their way. Feeling his bravery return Bronn reached his sword to one side and lopped the head off one of the scurrying beasts who might've otherwise escaped.

They reached the gates, which were again unmanned. He saw a pair of great wheels in front of them which he realized would need to be turned. Gesturing to the redcloaks he barked, "get those moving!" The men saw his purpose and jumped off their horses and moved to the turnstiles.

By now the orcs had rallied. The creatures scurried like ants out of the buildings, covered in crude jagged black armor and bearing blades ranging from simple swords to curved scythes and spears.

The men stayed as close as they could while still protecting the two groups on the turnstiles, the wave hit them with a savagery Bronn had never seen in men… until with a roar he saw Shagga emerge from the gatehouse swinging his remaining great axe.

In spite of the situation Crakehall laughed, "Good to see the oaf again isn't it?" He bellowed.

Bronn found himself grinning a little too, before he turned and began parrying the strikes of a pair of orcs who'd slipped through the skirmish line. He stabbed one and with a quick motion pulled his knife and threw it into the other's skull. Glancing to his side he saw Clegane kill three of the creatures with a great swipe of that terrible longsword, the orcs fell back in fear.

Suddenly there was a loud thudding noise and around the corner onto the main street Bronn saw… well he wasn't sure what it was, it was at least a head taller than Gregor Clegane and it carried a great black hammer, rough stony scales covered it's head. The thing roared and rush towards them.

"Spears!" Bronn shouted, and hearing him a few of the redcloaks with pikes tried to form up to stop the thing's charge, but it swept them aside with ease, tossing them high into the air.

"Fuck this," Bronn mumbled to himself, and prepared to attempt to climb the wall when he saw Clegane lumber forth screaming like a madman. The big thing saw him and raised it's hammer but with a quick blow Clegane struck at it's wrist. Although the strike made a sound closer to steel hitting stone than flesh the creature roared with pain and dropped the hammer. It raised a fist to strike but Clegane raised his shield, the largest Bronn had ever seen, to block it. Stumbling from the blow the great knight fell to his knees. Pulling his arm back he suddenly pushed his enormous blade through it's throat. The thing fell backwards onto several orcs that were behind it, and the mass fell back before Clegane's wrath, for the man had entered a state of legendary bloodlust.

"Stop this senseless violence!" a voice roared over the battle.

Bronn took a moment to recognize it, _Tyrion?!_ He thought madly, but as the orcs fell back and parted he could see the little lord sitting atop a horse in the middle of the street alongside the Mouth of Sauron.

Everyone was in a state of shocked silence before Crakehall stepped forward, "Lord Tyrion… we'd thought, well…"

"Thought you'd embarrass me? Thought you'd insult Sauron the Great by running amok in his city like this?" Tyrion's voice was bolder and stronger than Bronn remembered... The little man sighed, "Your conduct means we must leave early, I was enjoying many enlightened discussions with my friend here," he gestured to the Mouth, who wore an amused grin, "I'd hoped you could all be more mature than this."

The Mouth spoke now, "Worry not lord Tyrion, we will forget this slight if you only bear our message to your lord father." He gestured and a group of orcs quickly moved around the men and began opening the gates. "Go freely friends."

Tyrion rode to them, and after a moment of confusion the men mounted up and began the ride out of the city following his lead. Looking around Bronn saw they had lost perhaps half the redcloaks, though both the knights and Shagga appeared to be intact.

Bronn rode up alongside Tyrion, "Tyrion is everything-"

"Silence" The little man raised his hand, Bronn could see it bore a golden ring with a square blue stone set in it. "You have not performed to my expectations Bronn, we will discuss this further when we have returned."

Bronn sighed angrily, "Yes, yes we will."


	22. XXII The Hound

**XXII  
The Hound  
**

Sandor Clegane was quite literally in high spirits, these hobbits brewed all manner of drink, and he'd had an opportunity to sample many wines, beers, meads, and brandies which he knew would cost an arm and a leg in King's Landing but here were flowing like water. The hobbit Shirriff, Robin Smallburrow, was making good on his promise to take them to the home of these "Sackeville-Bagginses," but they'd made a number of stops along the way to see various inns and taverns that the little man had assured them were essential to the "proper Shire experience" as he called it. Every one of these required Clegane and even Joffrey to bend over to enter, but with a bit of a search most of them were able to find a man sized chair and table for the two visitors.

The hobbits seemed standoffish at first, but due to the large weight of a gold dragon and the inability of most of the tavernkeeps to provide change for them Clegane almost always ended up buying the entire tavern a round to drink. Though the hobbits seemed suspicious of outsiders Clegane noticed that they loved their manners and formalities as much as the highborn women of King's Landing. This, combined with Smallburrow's assurance that they were, "right solid folk," meant that often they felt compelled to approach him to thank him for the free drink, and usually ask the travelers where they were headed. On one particularly cold night, when the fire was roaring and snow fell outside, one of the little men, perhaps emboldened by drink, or perhaps hoping Clegane was, asked him something more personal.

"So," the little man slurred, "You get them scars fighting dragons? They say you got them scars fightin' dragons."

Clegane growled and stood up, Joffrey noticed and whispered to him, "don't do anything-"

"You wanna know how I got these scars?" Clegane bellowed. The tavern had gone quiet, people put their drinks down, and the barkeep had lifted a wooden club that might have intimidated the little hobbits but just looked childish to Clegane. Looking around he noticed that everyone was looking at him, and suddenly self conscious he muttered, "there was a fire…"

He nearly sat down when the hobbit, clearly not understanding his reluctance to discuss the subject suddenly blurted out again, "well did you fight dragons though?"

His inebriated mind immediately went to the Targaryons and Robert's rebellion, "Yes I fought some dragons in my day, killed one of their men when I was twelve, sorry bastard…"

The hobbit smiled groggily and stumbled away, "dragon slayer…" the little man mumbled.

As they moved closer to Hobbiton, the place where the Bagginses supposedly lived, Joffrey grew increasingly agitated. One day when Smallburrow had led them through a village called Frogmorton things came to a head.

"Oh Frogmorton has a number of places to warm one's bones," the shirriff said, "There's The Floating Log of course, but if they're full you can sometimes find a stool at The Drunken Clam or Moe's Tavern, oh you must try a Flaming Moe Ser Donal! It's a delightful mix of wine and some other brew that he then lights-"

"Shirriff Smallburrow," Joffrey cut in tersely, "It's not even noon yet, perhaps we should just keep moving."

Smallburrow chuckled gaily, "Now now master Penn, surely even warriors need to take time to stop and smell the roses as it were?" The fat hobbit gestured towards one of the establishments, "after all who knows when you'll be back this way again?"

"Never!" Joffrey spat, shocking the hobbit, "Seven hells this entire place is terrible! Nothing but drunk little imps scurrying about! You live in _holes_ for fuck's sake!"

Clegane had ridden over now and with a hard backhanded slap he ended the boy's rant, "Squire Penn!" He yelled, "that is wholly inappropriate!"

Joffrey seemed to be calming now, and seeing the shocked expression on Smallburrow's face realized that he had erred. "I am… sorry, Shirriff Smallburrow. The cold must be getting to me, too much time on the road too."

The little hobbit's eyes narrowed, "if you didn't like taverns you could've just said so…" he muttered. "Come then, let's go and get you to Hobbiton."

Clegane sighed, feeling a little annoyed at Joffrey for costing him another tavern visit. He briefly consoled himself with the thought that a flaming drink sounded awful anyway before riding close to the boy and whispering, "Calm yourself your grace, we are nearly there and we must maintain our guise. This fellow is willingly leading us to your magic ring."

Joffrey nodded, "Yes, I can feel it as we draw closer… Once I have it I'll send men back here, tear down this whole gods damned place." He glanced at Smallburrow, who was now whistling a catchy tune, "perhaps they'll gut some of the fat piggies too…"

Clegane frowned but said nothing. The idea of Lannister men, of Gregor, coming here to this place saddened him somehow. The little Hobbits were an innocent and kind folk, in a way they reminded him of the little bird Sansa from King's Landing. A sheltered people like this would have no way of resisting, and the rangers alone would be no protection from Joffrey's wrath. _I've doomed these people by bringing him here_ , he thought suddenly, _One night Gregor is going to come and bring an end to all of this._ He scowled angrily and put it out of his mind, _not my place…_

They finally came to the small village of Bywater. Smallburrow encouraged them to stay there that night as there were no inns in Hobbiton with man-sized rooms, and he also told them that Lotho Sackville-Baggins was known to frequent the Green Dragon Inn some nights. That was enough to assuage the king's temper and stop another outburst.

Clegane parked himself at the bar in a large chair that had been prepared for him. The two hobbits to his left whispered suddenly and then suddenly one piped up, "You must be sir dragonslayer! The knight that's been traveling the Shire buying hobbits drinks!"

Clegane barked in laughter, "Ser dragonslayer?"

The hobbits looked to one another before turning back to him, "does that mean you're _not_ going to buy us drinks" one said hesitantly.

Clegane rolled his eyes, "Barkeep!"

The hobbit waddled over to his seat, "what'll yah have Sir Dragonslayer?"

"Wine, strong wine, for me and get these two whatever they're having." He dropped a gold coin on the bar and the little inkeeper's eyes went wide as he scurried to take the other Hobbit's orders. Knowing what was coming next he turned to cut off the two hobbits, "there's no need to thank me, introduce yourselves, or anything else of that sort."

One of them laughed, "Oh Sir knight you can't insult our honor like that!" He gestured to his friend, a dirty blonde little man with a square jaw and blue eyes, "This is Peregrin Took,"

"Pippin to friends, and anyone buying beer's a friend!" the other one cut in.

"Right you are!" the first one laughed, "I myself am Meriadoc Brandybuck, but you can call me Merry! A toast to new friends!" They both raised their glasses, and with a sigh Clegane met theirs and drank with them. "Anything you need around here Dragonslayer, you just tell us!" Merry said.

Clegane thought a moment, he looked to Joffrey who was angrily sitting in a corner drinking a goblet of wine. "I don't suppose you two know where I could find someone by the name of Sackville-Baggins?

A look of distaste came over the faces of the two hobbits, "What do you want to talk to Lotho for?" Pippin asked, "That little pimple doesn't care for anything but getting his grubby mitts on Bag End."

"Well I've got business with the Baginses you see," he thought back to the Ford, "in fact the Wizard sent me."

Merry took another swig form his mug, "You sure he didn't mean for you to find Frodo Baggins?" he asked, wiping the foam from his lips.

Clegane thought it over, "Well where is Frodo Baggins?"

Pippin laughed, "Oh he's staying in tonight, if you want Lotho though he's over there," he pointed to a booth on the far wall where a fellow he assumed was Lotho was drinking with a few other hobbits.

 _Well I guess we'll start with the one that's here_ , "If you'll excuse me I must collect my squire." He fished a silver coin out of his pocket this time and tossed it to the barkeep, "keep these two drinking on me." The two hobbits grinned and toasted him as he got up and walked to Joffrey.

The king saw him approach, "I hope you're enjoying the drinks dog, this will be the last time we get stuck in one of these places."

"One of the Bagginses is here in the tavern," he said quietly.

Joffrey's eyes went wide, " _where!?_ " he hissed, suddenly looking around.

Clegane looked over to Lotho, "Go get us a corner table… I'm going to go invite him to have a drink with us."

As he approached Lotho's table he could see the little hobbit and his comrades quiet down. "You Lotho Sackville-Baggins?" Clegane asked.

The hobbits were quiet before Lotho spoke up, "I am, and I've got no words for big clumsy oafs so bugger off."

Clegane frowned, his black cracked skin glistening slightly in the low tavern light, "You should come have a drink with my squire and I," before Lotho could say anything else he cracked his knuckles loudly, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist."

Lotho scowled but got up anyways, "This had better be worth my time," he muttered.

They all sat down at the corner table that Joffrey had moved to, as soon as the hobbit and the knight reached their chairs Joffrey hissed, "Where is it?"

Lotho seemed confused, "Where's what? What's this all about?"  
"Don't play dumb with me, you've got the ring don't you? Is it with you now?"

Clegane rolled his eyes at the boy's lack of tact, "Mr. Lotho, does your family by chance own a ring? We're interested in… purchasing it."  
Lotho scratched his chin, "Well my old mother has a ring that she got from _her_ mother and so on. Don't really know where it came from, you fellows think it's worth something?"

Joffrey seethed, "It doesn't belong to you… you _Bagginses_ " he spat the word, "give it to me and there won't be any trouble."

Now Lotho grinned, "Ahhh so mum's old ring _is_ worth something! Well I won't be parting with it now, we'll get it properly appraised by someone over in Michael Delving."

Joffrey's voice grew high and nearly cracked, "Hobbit, Give. Me. That. Ring."

Lotho laughed, "No you stupid boy! Your kind just aren't clever enough to keep up with Shirefolk!"

With a screech Joffrey launched himself across the table and he and the hobbit rolled on the floor trading blows. Joffrey started on top and landed a few good blows, but the hobbit somehow managed to flip him over and then stood up delivering a flurry of quick kicks into the young king's stomach.

" _Dog! Kill him!"_ Joffrey screamed. Clegane grabbed the hobbit and lifted him off the king, who scurried back to his feet. Everyone was looking at them now, and after Joffrey caught his breath he repeated his command, "Kill them, kill them all…" he muttered pointing frantically around the room. Clegane noted that Lotho had fled through the front door.

Smallburrow stepped forward, "Squire Penn you have had too much to drink for a man your age I think," he looked to Clegane, "by your leave I'd escort him to your room."

Clegane suddenly laughed at the absurdity of it all, "Yes Shirriff Smallburrow, here's the key, lock him up there and let him sleep it off."

Joffrey looked at him shocked, "Dog?" several hobbits including Merry and Pippin grabbed Joffrey by his arms and as a group began hoisting him up the stairs while laughing. " _DOG!"_ Joffrey yelled loudly, but then he was upstairs and that was the end of it.

With a light chuckle he walked back to the bar and put down a few more coins, "Sorry for the mess, now keep the drink flowing for everyone!" The tavern roared in approval.

Sometime later, after he'd stumbled upstairs and fallen into a deep sleep, he was awoken again by someone shaking him. Opening his eyes groggily he saw Robin Smallburrow there.

"Ser Donal get up, I'm afraid there's been an… incident."

Sandor rubbed his eyes and saw that Joffrey and the crossbow were gone, he sat straight up, "Oh bugger all, he must've gotten out when I came in drunk…"

Smallburrow sighed, "yes he did, come with me please."

He followed the Shirriff out silently for about a mile down the road to the town he knew was called Hobbiton. He could see the glow of torches in the gloomy late winter night. As they drew nearer he could see that there were perhaps two dozen hobbits gathered around one of the small burrows he knew they lived in. There Joffrey was tied and gagged in the center of the group, writhing furiously.

Lotho walked to the front of the group, "You there! You big stupid knight! Look what your fool boy did to my mum!" he gestured to an old Hobbit woman who was slouched against the burrow moaning, a crossbow bolt through her arm.

"This is what happens when we consort with outsiders!" the woman sobbed "Frodo and Gandalf are to blame for this!"

Smallburrow sighed, "she's delirious, but I think she'll be fine. The boy broke in here last night, obviously still mad at Lotho over some squabble, and things got ugly."

Clegane looked down at Joffrey, who just glared up at him angrily. "This is… obviously unbecoming behavior for a squire." He thought frantically of a way to get out of the situation, but he was saved by the sound of approaching horses. The crowd turned to see a dozen men approach, led by Muradin and Arthas, the rangers, along with…

"Daven Lannister!?" Clegane exclaimed.

The young Lannister knight, who now bore a great bushy beard that made him look like the lion that was his namesake, nodded, "I see we've finally found you fools."

"These men were following you and explained the situation to us, we decided to lead them to you at once," The ranger Arthas explained, "frankly the sooner you're gone the better as far as I'm concerned."

Daven looked down to Joffrey, "Seems we came none too soon. Who's in charge here?"

Robin Smallburrow stepped forward, "That'd be me, I'm Robin Smallburrow, shirriff of the Shire, I've been guiding these two under some amount of deception apparently." He glared at Clegane.

Daven nodded, "Well Ser Sheriff, a Lannister always pays his debts," he unhooked a small coin purse and tossed it to the Hobbit, "for the trouble of catching him and tying him for me."

Now Lotho stepped forward, "What about me? He shot me mum!"

Daven shrugged and cut loose another purse from his belt tossing it to the other hobbit, "That's fair enough I suppose, what possessed the brat to do it?"

Lotho sneered, "he wanted the family ring, my grandmum said she traded a barrel of red herring for it, this… this mathom snatcher must've wanted it for himself!"

Daven looked at Joffrey, disgusted, "All your lands and gold and you're up here at the ass end of the world trying to steal rings from dwarves?" Joffrey's muffled screams cut through even the cloth gag the hobbits had put on him, "Save it for your grandfather," Daven said. He gestured to some of the men to sling Joffrey over one of the horses. He turned to Clegane, "and what about you Clegane? Are you coming back with us? I'm sure Lord Tywin has words for you too."

Clegane looked at the hobbits, his eyes lingering on the crying woman slouched against the door, and then at Joffrey, "Fuck the Westerlands, fuck the king."

Now the ranger Muradin spoke, "Well you can't stay here, you've caused enough trouble to the poor halflings."

Clegane looked at Smallburrow, "he's the Shirriff ain't he? It's his decision."

All eyes turned to Smallburrow, who sighed. "Ser Don-, No, I suppose Ser Clegane was it?" Sandor nodded and he continued, "I've grown quite fond of drinking with you but this is… this is beyond my power. As a friend I'd ask you to come to Michael Delving with me and we will let the mayor make this decision."

The rangers glowered but said nothing and Daven just shrugged, "I'm not going to drag you back, don't trouble these folk too much Hound." They turned and left on the road to Bywater, the king trying in vain to undo his restraints. The excitement over, the hobbits began to disperse except for one, who Clegane guessed was a healer, who lingered over the old Hobbit woman dressing her wound.

He looked back to Smallburrow, "So when do we leave?"

The hobbit yawned and rubbed his eyes, "For better or for worse we'll leave tomorrow. Let's go back to the Green Dragon and get some sleep.

 **A/N** Again to see the map of exactly where everything is simply go to www. imgur e5FIYyh just remove the spaces.

Also we've got our first review! Hooray!


	23. XXIII The Second Son

**XXIII  
The Second Son**

When the rangers brought him news that the Lannister Banner had been draped over the walls of Minas Morgul bearing his green cloth Faramir had ordered them to march immediately. He knew there likely wasn't anything he could do for the Westermen, but they approached the dread city anyway.

One of his men came to him as they approached, "Captain, you don't mean for us to enter the city do you?"

He looked at the walls, the terrible glow bathing the valley in a sickly white light. "No, we won't go in…" Distantly he heard the sounds of battle, and suddenly a great groan went up which Faramir knew from experience was a troll dying. He sighed, "we've no siege equipment and the walls are too high to climb… maybe we could-"

He was cut off by a creaking noise as the gates slowly pulled open. The Westerlands men, mounted and bearing their standard, were leaving the city. The men looked to him, confused. He reluctantly sheathed his sword, he saw that they'd been spotted and the party was now approaching them with the little lord Tyrion riding in front.

"Ah Faramir, it is good to see you," the little man said, "We will need an escort back to Minas Tirith, I believe my father has sent them a maester and ravens and among other things I have need of them."

Faramir frowned, "I'm sorry lord Tyrion but my men and I are not here simply because we enjoy the outdoors. I must continue to harry the foe and gather information on what forces he is gathering-"

"There are fifty thousand orcs, five thousand men of Haradrim and Easterling composure, perhaps two hundred… no sorry, one hundred and ninety nine trolls, and nine mortal men no longer doomed to die." The little man smiled at Faramir's shock, "They are quite plainly preparing for a push, I would recommend we return to Gondor so you may warn your father."

In spite of his smug attitude Faramir somehow believed him, and despair overwhelmed him. _Fifty thousand? We would be hard pressed to defend against half that... and The Nine? Father must be warned._ He forced himself to be calm, _If we defend in Osgiliath maybe…_ He sighed, "you speak true Tyrion Lannister. Come, we will escort you back to Minas Tirith."

The little man smiled, "excellent, it seems that your expedition will have some value after all."

Faramir glowered at him but called for his men to mount up as he moved to the front of the column. He rode in silence for some time until the sellsword Bronn approached him.

"Faramir, I need to ask you a few things," he said.

Faramir nodded, "I'd hoped to ask someone from your party some questions as well."

Bronn looked back, quickly making sure no one else from the Lannister party was near them. "That place… whatever curse is on it, can it follow a man out?"

Faramir shook his head, "You are safe Bronn, the foul stench of Minas Morgul is on they who dwell there. It is not caught as a disease is."

Bronn leaned in closer, " _It's not me I'm worried about"_ he whispered. "It's Tyrion, he's been… odd. He disappeared for two days and then suddenly right when those things were about to butcher us suddenly he showed up and talked down to us for not wanting our throats cut in the middle of the night." He shuddered, "I've been talking to Crakehall, does this Sauron practice necromancy? Is it some foul thing in his shape while we've left the real Tyrion back there to rot?"

Faramir looked back to Tyrion, who was now taking a drink of wine and laughing with the big man, Gregor Clegane. "Sauron was known at one time as the Necromancer, but to make a perfect copy of a man like you describe isn't something I've heard of in any songs or stories."

Bronn breathed a sigh of relief, "well they still did _something_ …"

Faramir thought about this, "Did they give him anything to take with him? Jewelry…" he spoke his next words low, nearly silent, " _a ring?"_

Bronn's eyebrows went up, "Yes! He had a ring on that I've never seen him wear before."

Faramir looked again to Tyrion, who met his eyes and waved, even from here Faramir could see the ring on his hand, but no fine details. "My father will know more of these matters, he is learned in the lore of Mordor and Sauron's rings." He turned back to the sellsword, "will you meet him with me when we return?"

Bronn shook his head, "Fuck that," he looked to Faramir who was taken aback and shrugged, "sorry for the language but after this little adventure I'm done. I'm going to ride my horse as far west as west goes. Crakehall's talking of going back and building himself a keep somewhere, maybe I'll join him."

Faramir thought this over, the sellsword was a skilled fighter, he had to be if he'd survived Minas Morgul, and he was, or at least had been, close to Tyrion… "Bronn is there any way I could convince you to stay in Minas Tirith for a time?"

He thought it over, "does Gondor pay sellswords well?"

Faramir laughed, in spite of everything the man still cared about money, "I'm sure we can make some arrangement-"

"What's so funny?" Neither of them had heard Tyrion approach, but there he was, suddenly riding alongside them.

Bronn cleared his throat, suddenly nervous, "Well you see Lord Tyrion Faramir was offering to bring me on if you were done with my services…"

Tyrion laughed, but where his laugh was normally raucous and jolly now it was sharp and cruel. "Oh? Is Gondor assembling a band of cowards to plan the best routes of retreat?"

Bronn's nostrils flared, "Tyrion-"

"Faramir did you know these louts were trying to run away when I was discussing diplomacy?" The little man took another swig of his wine.

"Keep it up and Shagg'll be calling you the quarterman," the sellsword growled.

Now Tyrion's smile faded, his eyes grew cold and bleak, "Bronn, return to your place in the column. I'll tolerate no more insubordination."

The voice gave Faramir chills and he could see it had an effect on Bronn as well, for the sellsword turned to go back to his place without a word of protest. Now the dwarf turned to him, "Faramir, my party unfortunately acted out of turn back in Minas Morgul and we were forced to leave without our provisions or tents. I was thinking that as chief ranger you should volunteer yours for my use."

Faramir could tell from the look in his eyes that the dwarf knew what he and the sellsword had been talking about, and he also knew the little lord didn't really care about the tent. "Of course Lord Tyrion," he said without emotion. He looked at the ring on the little lord's hand, a gold band with a square blue gem in it. _Should I ask where he got it?_ He thought, _No, best not to give my suspicions away._

The trip quickly grew miserable as a cold rain started to fall over them. True to his word Faramir had let the little man use his tent, such material discomforts were old friends to him anyways. The worst part was Tyrion, he seemed to enjoy tearing others down now and he routinely rode alongside each of the men allowing his infamous wit to run wild until the only man who would ride alongside him was Gregor Clegane, who oddly enough seemed to be sharing many dark jokes and much laughter with him.

They crossed through Osgiliath without incident until they came to the far bridge, where Boromir and Jaime were waiting for them. Boromir in particular seemed surprised to see them. "Faramir why have you returned from your ranging so early? Is an attack imminent?" his brother asked.

"There is an attack coming, but it is not imminent," he replied, "We will speak of it later… in private."

Jaime rode forth to greet his brother, "Tyrion! How was your journey?" He smiled, "No doubt you've charmed all the women east of the Anduin?"

Tyrion returned the smile, "Of course Jaime, and speaking of charming lovely women has our sister arrived? You two have always been quite _inseparable._ "

Jaime seemed taken aback by this comment for some reason, "Of course, she's rooming in the Tower of the Sun. She and Myrcella have taken quite well to Gondor, the people here practically throw themselves at her feet every time she steps outside and Myrcella has a line of tailors and dressmakers offering to make her free clothing, hats, and other silly things."

Tyrion nodded, "Yes between their praise and the company of… family, I'd say Cersei has everything she's ever wanted here, wouldn't you agree?"

Jaime seemed upset but Faramir couldn't quite place his finger on why. He decided he'd ask later, for now he wanted to speak to his father, "If you'll excuse me brother, Ser Jaime, I've got to report on what I've seen to father."

"I'm afraid I too must go to the city, I need to send our own father some news as well," Tyrion said.

Jaime nodded but didn't smile at his brother this time, "Understandable, we will see you at the tower tonight then?"

"Of course, I have enough business to keep me here for some time I think," Tyrion replied.

Faramir shuddered, _What business might that be?_ He made a mental note to have one of his men follow the dwarf and detail his activities when they reached the city.

When they arrived he gave orders for the men to be lodged. He pulled Bronn aside quickly, "have you considered my offer?"

The mercenary looked to Tyrion, who just stared at them from across the room, smiling. "Yes, I think I could be convinced to stick around and… sort a few things out."

Faramir nodded, "Good, come with me. We must speak to my father at once." He made a quick gesture to one of his men and they left the stable area to climb to the high tower. Turning to the other ranger, "I want Tyrion Lannister shadowed, don't let him see you. Report back to me on everything he's done, everyone he's talked to."

The man nodded, "Yes Captain," he left them.

They quickly entered the throne room, Denethor was absent but Faramir knew he spent most days in his study drafting orders and reading reports. He found the door locked and knocked loudly. They got no answer.

Bronn shrugged, "maybe he's off somewhere else."

There was a shuffling inside the office and suddenly the door swung open revealing the steward. "Faramir, weren't you supposed to be on a ranging for at least a few more weeks?" His father asked.

Inwardly Faramir sighed, he had no time for this, "Father this is Bronn, a companion of Tyrion Lannister. They have just arrived in the city."

Denethor brightened, "Another of Lord Tywin's children? Well where is he? I should introduce myself-"

"It is regarding him that we must speak with you. Father, this is not a matter that we should discuss out here in the open."

Denethor raised an eyebrow but ushered them into his study. He locked the door and turned to the two men, "Now what is so secret that even the throne room of Minas Tirith is not permitted to hear of it?"

"I think Tyrion Lannister bears one of the rings of power," Faramir said.

Denethor's mouth opened in shock, "Surely not the One? No… He'd never send that one _out_ of Mordor…" he turned to Bronn, "Do you think your lord has this ring?"

Bronn shrugged, "I'm a swordsman m'lord, I don't know anything about magic rings or curses or anything of that sort. All I know is he came out of that foul city with a new ring and ever since then he's been a rotten little shit."

Denethor raised an eyebrow at the harsh words, "Indeed… the enemy may have hoped to bewitch him so. It would be an ideal manner of sabotaging any alliance between our peoples." He stroked his chin, "It's likely one of the seven, the nine are still in use and it's likely the elves have the three hidden away somewhere." He turned to Faramir, "have you set a watch on him?"

Faramir nodded, "Yes, we'll know his every move."

Denethor sighed, "I will see this ring myself to make sure this is not yet another trick, then we will determine what must be done."

Bronn cleared his throat causing the two men to look at him, "I've got a good knife right here, we could go grab him right now and be done with it." He drew a dagger and pantomimed cutting a finger.

Denethor shook his head, "Absolutely not, I've been reading on Lord Tywin's… accomplishments, and that would be an unwise course to say the least. If we must go that route I'd have more proof than the word of two men, one of whom is my own son."

That night they hosted Tyrion for a grand dinner which all three of the Lannisters attended along with Boromir, Denethor, and himself. For at least a while Tyrion seemed to be his normal self, laughing and drinking with everyone. Denethor had seated the little man at the head of the table near himself, no doubt to see the ring in question. After they'd had their first course of the meal he could see his father looking at him, meeting his eyes the Steward simply gave a slight nod, imperceptible to anyone who wasn't looking for it. _So it's one of the Seven then_ , Faramir thought grimly. He excused himself, saying the march had tired him. Boromir and Jaime mocked him for his lack of stamina, which led to another round of jokes at his expense regarding wine and women, but he merely smiled and left, pretending nothing was wrong.

He'd intended to meet the man shadowing Tyrion immediately but oddly the Queen mother, Cersei, was by herself in the hallway with a small goblet of wine. "Lady Cersei is something troubling you?" he asked quietly, hoping not to alert anyone still in the dining hall.

She looked to him, "My… brother, Tyrion." As she moved closer Faramir could see her eyes were red.

 _Has she been crying?_ He thought, he felt compelled to say something. "Lord Tyrion… he may still be tired from the road, try not to take his words to heart right now."

"He's always been a disgusting little imp," she spat, "but before dinner he came to me… he said things, things about me and my children." She sniffed, "I normally don't let his filth cut me so deeply, but something about him is different."

Faramir sighed angrily, "As I said, don't let his words trouble you. A woman of such beauty needn't pay his barbs any heed."

She smiled faintly, "Thank you Lord Faramir… I-I think I shall return to the hall now." She turned to leave and he continued towards the barracks.

He finally reached his destination, his man was waiting there for him. "What news?" he asked expectantly.

The man nodded, "He went to one of the outer gates earlier, a great carriage was waiting for him and he seemed to be expecting it, several of the men driving the horses seemed… swarthy."

Faramir's eyes narrowed, "do you know what could've been in it?"

The man shook his head, "I asked the stablemaster and he said Lord Tyrion brought a carriage of wine for the banquet tonight, supposedly the Westerland's finest vintage."

Faramir's frown deepened, "I've had the Westermen's wine before, what we drank tonight wasn't it. In any case he couldn't have arranged for some to be sent so quickly. Where is this carriage?" The man quickly led him to the stables where the great carriage sat, Faramir quickly pulled a cloth off the top of the cargo revealing it was full of barrels… barrels with their tops removed. He stepped up onto it and looked inside, "There's no wine in these," He spat, "and there never was."

Turning quickly to the man he asked, "What did he do next?"

The ranger stroked his chin, "After that he went to go see the fellow keeping the ravens, what do they call them… the master?"

"The maester," Faramir replied grimly, "where is he?" The ranger led him to the small apartment at the base of one of the western towers which his father had converted into housing for the ravens brought from the Westerlands. As they approached he could see some commotion, two citadel guards were already there.

"I'm telling you someone's killed all the birds!" the robed man yelled.

The guard didn't seem to be buying it, "Look here, I'm not going to spend all night looking for a bird killer. It was probably a cat, there's plenty of them about," the guard said.

Faramir approached, "Maester, you said someone's killed all of your birds?"

The man turned to Faramir, glad that someone was finally taking him seriously, "Yes! That's what I've been trying to explain! It seems as though someone took a cord and choked them all!"

Faramir and the ranger looked to one another, "Maester, did anyone send any messages by raven today?"

The Maester thought a moment, "Yes, Lord Denethor sent one to Dol Amroth, and Lord Tyrion sent one to his father back in Casterly Rock."

 _Lord Tyrion sent one to Casterly Rock,_ the thought reverberated in his skull. _What is the imp planning?_ He thought to himself. He looked to the East and in the dark of night he could see the soft glow of the volcanoes.


	24. XXIV Saruman of Many Colors

**XXIV**

 **Saruman of Many Colors**

In several millennia Saruman had never been humiliated so much as he had when he had been forced to leave the court of Tywin Lannister. He'd seethed at the insult of expulsion, the man thought to intimidate him? A Wizard? Even with all of his guards he could have struck down every man in the throne room including the old lion himself with hardly any exertion, but that would forever mar his image in the Westerlands… a land he now felt would be a fine seat of power for the new Lord of the Rings. He'd taken his leave in anger, collecting what few men he'd come to employ and the maester Qyburn. Saruman was somewhat disappointed with the latter, instead of a clever and bold man he'd been a wrinkled fellow with grey hair, like some child's favorite grandfather. Giving him up was a final insult from Tywin rather than a boon to be celebrated.

Salt was rubbed in the wound when his party passed the Banefort, a great wall was being constructed and he saw several dwarves there assisting with the building. As the small wagon he'd been provided rolled by he could see their great pulleys bringing stone to bear while several others were constructing a great gate in the open field in front of the hooded men's fortress. _That wall will be impregnable when manned_ , he thought to himself, _A dwarven made gate too… not so grand as Minas Tirith's but no ram will break it._ He glowered and said nothing, the few serving men he'd collected in Lannisport feared him too much to break the silence.

One of them, the former maester Qyburn, finally did speaak, "My lord Wizard, I thank you for your patronage but since it seems we have a long journey to your home ahead of us, might I ask what duties you wish for me to perform when we arrive?"

Saruman glanced back at him and gestured for him to come sit at the front of the wagon, "Tell me Maester Qyburn, what are the normal duties of a maester?"

He shrugged, "There are many and they are of course open to interpretation. Some of the more prominent ones include advising the keeper of a particular hall or fortress, treatment of wounds and illnesses, and keeping of ravens of course."

Saruman nodded politely, as the Banefort faded from view so did his temper, "I've no need of ravens in Orthanc and Lord Tywin wouldn't part with any, perhaps a healer would be useful."

Qyburn sighed and looked off into the horizon, the empty plains of Enedwaith provided little to attract the eye. "I wish I could offer you more, the maesters are supposed to seek new knowledge instead of offering the same old falsehoods for generations… I was expelled for trying to right this wrong you see."

Saruman stroked his beard, "And what knowledge were you seeking?"

Qyburn seemed hesitant, "I sought the truths of the body's function so that I might save lives. To this end I consulted many banned texts… among other things."

Saruman let power flow into his voice briefly, just enough to get the maester talking, "What other things? Do not worry Maester Qyburn, you will find no judgment here."

"I-I opened the living," he said suddenly, "All criminals I assure you, murderers mostly." He looked at his hands a moment, "I needed to see a beating heart, a filling lung… It's the only way to truly understand the workings of a machine as complex as the body."

Saruman smiled to himself, perhaps Qyburn was a worthy acquisition after all, "I myself have learned much of the nature of life through some… unorthodox experiments. Perhaps when we have returned you might assist me with some of them." He thought a moment, "I saw that you brought a number of books and scrolls, are there any you would recommend to a peer in these crafts?"

Qyburn smiled genuinely now, "Yes certainly," he reached back into the wagon and pulled a burlap sack filled with texts up to their seat. "The fool Septons wanted to burn half of these… with the other kingdoms gone these are the only remaining copies of several of these works. They'd hoped to snuff them out forever." He started rummaging, "I've got a few more common texts for reference, Maester Yandel's "The World of Ice and Fire" of course , as well as the Seven Pointed Star…" he suddenly seemed to find what he was looking for. "As well as some more esoteric works." He pulled a book with a wrinkled brown jacket and a terrible face carved into the cover.

In spite of himself Saruman found himself unnerved by it, but he took it from the maester anyways, he flipped through a few pages before giving up. "This is not in any language I know of, what is it?"

Qyburn took it from him, "The Necronomicon Ex Mortis, The Book of the Dead. Bound in human flesh and inked in blood, this ancient Ghiscari text contains bizarre burial rights, funeral incantations, and demon resurrection passages." He smiled thinly, "At's probably best not to read this one aloud. Another maester, Marwyn he was called, was helping me translate it before the Arrival." He sighed, "It'll never be done now, but I couldn't bear to let Perestan or one of those other fools use it for firewood."

Saruman was impressed, "When we return to Orthanc you'll have to compile a reading list of those more esoteric texts for me. I think you will make a fine Maester of Orthanc."

Qyburn smiled in turn, "Many thanks, truthfully many are nothing but hoaxes and senseless superstition, but there is great and terrible truth to some of them…"

The rest of the journey continued pleasantly enough, Qyburn was a surprising fount of knowledge about the human body and it's functions, and they spent days talking and exchanging what they each knew. Finally after over two weeks of travel they came to the tower of Orthanc. Having been away for some time Saruman excused himself to make use of the palantir… he needed to commune with the Dark Lord.

As he stepped into the shadows of the Palantir it didn't take him long to locate Sauron, he was like a beacon here when he chose to show himself. He felt his form float to the east. Suddenly the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, there was another here. He turned to see a tall man with dark brown hair and an eyepatch. He knew Denethor sometimes used the Palantir and chose to avoid his sight, but this stranger was no Gondorian…

"Who are you-" the figure vanished into smoke, leaving the palantir. He frowned but then felt the presence of the eye. Instinctively he knelt, "Great Sauron I come with a request…"

 _Rise Wizard. What would thou ask of me?_

He could feel the burning heat as though a roaring bonfire were just behind him, "I wish to breed an army of orcs, a second force you could use to crush Gondor from the North…"

 _Hmmm… I am intrigued, but why not simply gather the orcs of the Misty Mountains to your banner?_

"They are numerous but weak Lord Sauron, they do not have discipline nor do they have the strength to fight men in the light of day."

 _You would breed yourself a new race of Uruks?_

"Yes my lord, they would be at least as tall and strong as men, perhaps moreso, and unafraid of the sun." There was silence for a moment and for one frightening second he feared the Dark Lord had seen through him, but then-

 _What do you need for this task?_

"I request that you send me a few hundred orcs, I can gather men from Dunland for the remaining stock needed."

 _It will be done, look for them one week hence._

"Thank you my lord, I leave now to do your bidding." He pulled his hand from the palantir and smiled, someday _he_ would be the one called lord and master by even the great spirits of Middle Earth.

He quickly descended a few floors to where Qyburn was staying, the man was in a chair reading when he entered. "Maester Qyburn come, I must train you to assist me with our first project together."

Qyburn put down the book and smiled, in spite of the topic at hand he still looked like some kindly old man, "I am at your service Lord Saruman, what project is this you desire help with?"

Saruman returned the smile, "We're going to build a better soldier."

He spent the rest of the day explaining the nature and history of the orc to Qyburn, as they didn't have any on hand yet the maester was forced to take his word for most of it. "So they can be _grown_? Like a carrot?" the maester asked.

"Yes," the wizard replied, "but it requires a complete and stable creature first. When we have assembled one more can be made in his image."

Qyburn stroked his chin thinking, "So these orcs are small but fierce… and we need them bigger and smarter. You say that men's flesh and organs can be grafted to them?"

Saruman nodded, "It is a difficult process but it will certainly be necessary, I have called for the Dunlanders to send us men that they do not want returned. We will have enough manflesh for several attempts and we will select the best of them for mass production."

"What of animals?" Qyburn asked suddenly, "Can they be given the wings of a bird? What of the horns of a goat?"

Saruman thought about it but then shook his head, "I do not think so, to create orc men or uruks is a process that merges creatures of similar size and disposition."

"Perhaps for a personal project someday then," Qyburn said reluctantly.

The orcs arrived in a week as Sauron had promised. Saruman easily compelled them with his voice and his authority as a Wizard, soon they were locked in cells beneath the tower awaiting their fate.

The men of Dunland seemed more willing to resist, but the few who could withstand the power of his voice were scared into their cages by a few flashes of fire. He smiled and prepared his work table, turning to one of his servants from the Westerlands he said, "Fetch Qyburn, tell him it begins."

Qyburn had arrived wearing a dark black robe and a cloth covering over his mouth, on his belt he had several flasks and vials of potions and poisons that Saruman knew he had spent the last week brewing. Before they started he turned to the Wizard, "It is an _honor_ to work with you… master."

Saruman smiled in spite of himself, "As it is with you Maester Qyburn."

The work started slow, gathering the pieces from the men was not easy as even Saruman's voice could not compel a man to watch his own flesh being torn, but Qyburn had stepped forward with a needle filled with a strange milky liquid that put the man immediately to sleep upon injection. When they had enough spares he sent for one of the orcs, he decided to start with a smaller one, there would be no need to use the prime subjects on a practice run.

After a time they had hewn some enough pieces from the man onto the orc that a new creature stood before them. Suddenly Qyburn stepped forward with a wet burlap sack, with a flourish he removed it and revealed a freshly dripping wolf's head, it's face frozen in a hateful snarl.

"I was thinking Lord Saruman, the creature could use some larger teeth…" he said as he pulled a pair of plyers from his belt and began collecting them.

Saruman laughed, "Very well my friend, I suppose it is worth a try."

When the maester had finished replacing the teeth Saruman motioned for him to step away from the beast. "It's life is faint, I can still order it to… _LIVE!"_ he shouted suddenly and the creature awoke suddenly, screaming horribly. It burst free of the restraints and jumped off the table. Before Saruman could react it stopped suddenly, jerking and then falling to the ground. Qyburn went and put his finger to the thing's throat.

"Dead, most likely a burst heart." He sighed, "I'd worried that we'd put too large an adrenal gland in it…"

Saruman looked at the dead thing on the ground, it was big for an orc now, and it had the largest teeth any of them had ever borne… "I'll send for more, we're on the right course."


	25. XXV The Old Lion

**XXV**

 **The Old Lion**

Tywin Looked down at the newly blossoming tree with wonder, winter truly had only lasted a few months. He could tell from the warm breeze and the greening plants that this was no false spring as they were occasionally blessed with in Westeros, this was the real thing. He was drawing up orders for the family fields to be resown when Kevan entered his study with the latest reports on the fortifications at the Banefort.

"Brother, it seems things are going better than we had hoped, the Baneforts believe the additions to the Banefort itself are to be done within the next few months and the great wall is proceeding as well."

Tywin nodded, "Good to hear, how are they proceeding so quickly though? Gold can make men work faster but only by so much."

Kevan handed him the letter, "Lord Banefort says he's hired on a small party of Dwarves to be stonemasons. Apparently they're quite skilled in these arts."

Tywin's brow furrowed, "Dwarves Kevan? Surely they're more accustomed to circus performances."

Kevan shrugged, "It seems that in these lands there is a race known as dwarves, squat and stout like the Ibbenese. They live in great caves in the mountains by all accounts."

Tywin nodded, "Yes I seem to recall the emissary of Mordor saying something about them." A thought suddenly struck him and he looked at the map displayed on his wall, "You don't suppose there's dwarves living in the mountains near to us? If the Wizard is in service to some power in Dunland or in Rohan the Banefort will hold until we can reinforce it, but against an army that comes out of the mountains…"

Kevan studied the map with him, "I know only that Lord Banefort's dwarves have come from the Blue Mountains here," he pointed to a small maintain range in the far northwest. "Genna mentioned something to me earlier about the Westerlings wanting to hire on some Dwarves of their own."

Tywin raised an eyebrow, "the Westerlings? The Banefort guards the entire realm now, surely they must know I'm not paying to rebuild all of the castles in the Westerlands?"

Kevan smiled, "Well old Lord Gawen had his men stay out mining all winter and managed to bring in some gold while everyone else stopped. It seems he decided to trust the people saying winter would last three months over those who said it would last six years."

Tywin looked out the window again, down to the green grass and leaves that colored the landscape, "A gambit that paid off it seems. Still these Dwarves are rare in these parts, I'd not have the Westerlings pull their services away from where they are needed."

They were interrupted by Lancel, who entered abruptly without knocking, "Lord Uncle, father-"

"Lancel, I did not raise you in a barn. Do that again properly," Kevan cut him off.

The young knight sighed and left the room, closing the door. Tywin could hear him rap the door a few times. Kevan looked to Tywin with a grin. Tywin allowed himself a very small smile, "Enter," he said.

Lancel entered again, "There, was that so difficult?" Kevan asked.

Lancel ignored him, "Lord Uncle, Father, there is a man here claiming to be a prince of Rohan. He seems genuine enough to me but I thought it best to have you… examine him."

The two older men exchanged glances, Tywin decided to speak, "So prince Theodred of Rohan comes himself to meet us? It seems that I have underestimated Perestan's Maesters."

Lancel shook his head, "No, he says his name is Eomer, but he comes with a letter from Theoden, King of Rohan."

"Eomer is the nephew of the king and has been raised by him since childhood," Kevan said, "Saruman told me that-"

"I'll hear no more of the Wizard," Tywin said. "Lancel, house prince Eomer and have him brought to the throne room at twilight."

"Yes Uncle," Lancel said, and left quickly.

Some time later he sat in the golden throne of Casterly Rock, he always enjoyed greeting a guest here for the first time. Between the great stained glass window behind him and the golden throne, which had sat there for thousands of years by all accounts, he always felt as though he was presenting the glory of House Lannister through the ages. Looking at the chamber at sunset he knew it was impossible not to feel awe at the history and power of the ancient line.

The great doors were opened at each end by the redcloaks, wearing their finer regalia. He could see the horselord prince enter, himself wearing a lacquered crimson and green armor set and carrying his helm by his side.

"Greetings to prince Eomer of Rohan. I am Lord Tywin Lannister, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands and hand of Joffrey Baratheon, King of the Andals and the First men," he had to stop himself from including "Lord of the Seven Kingdoms," but he felt that between the bright colored light that streamed in from behind him and the glowing golden throne he had made his impression.

Eomer knelt low, "Hail to Lord Paramount Tywin Lannister and King Joffrey Baratheon. I come on behalf of King Theoden of the house of Eorl, lord of Rohan and all it's people's to establish relations with the Westerlands."

 _Respectful enough,_ Tywin thought, _but still…_ "I see you wear full armor to treat with me, fine though it is, do you fear attack in my halls Prince Eomer?"

Eomer suddenly seemed embarrassed, "Forgive me Lord Tywin, I spend little time in foreign courts. These are my most impressive vestiments and I thought-"

"I will see you are given a proper set of Westerosi dress robes for your stay here," Tywin continued, "Consider it a gift."

Eomer nodded his head, "Many thanks Lord Tywin."

 _Sheltered enough from courtly politics not to see gifts as slights I see_ , Tywin thought, _Rohan must be far more rural than Gondor or the Westerlands._

The young knight interrupted his thoughts suddenly, "Forgive my inquiry Lord Tywin, but I have heard the wizard Saruman graces your court… is there truth to these rumors?"

Tywin frowned, "No, Saruman's counsel proved to be ill suited for my needs. He is forbidden to return here."

Eomer smiled and it seemed a weight had been lifted from him, "A wise move your lordship, I have long suspected Saruman of certain ill activities in Rohan."

Tywin raised an eyebrow, "Truly? We will need to discuss this further in more… private spaces."

Eomer was silent a moment, "I suppose that wouldn't be improper. I will say I am a Marshal of the Riddermark and some things are not to be discussed with outsiders."

 _Naïve to court intrigue but still no fool_ , Tywin thought, "I simply wish to inquire as to the wizard's movements so that I may determine his motives. I will not trouble you for the intimate details of Rohan's defenses," he assured Eomer.

Eomer nodded, "Then I see nothing wrong with the request. Where and when shall I meet you?"

Tywin thought a moment, "My solar, ensure your men are fed and housed and then come at your convenience. See my nephew Lancel, the man who greeted you, about proper attire."

Eomer nodded and got up to leave. Tywin went to meet with Kevan briefly, he found his brother in his own apartment in the Rock, on the level just below his own.

"So is he a prince then?" His brother asked as he entered.

"A nephew of the king at any rate, I'd have you accompany me to speak with him. He knows some of Saruman's dealings, if the Wizard moves against us in other lands I'd prefer to know."

The two men went up the great staircase to Tywin's personal solar, though the view from the top of the rock was magnificent the sun was setting and he knew that by the time the horselord arrived it would be too dark to see anything but the few remaining lights down in Lannisport. He lit a few of the torches on the walls, he rarely allowed servants up here, preferring privacy.

He was sitting with Kevan discussing the influence of the Faith in Lannisport when Eomer entered. Tywin noted that he wore a green silk button up shirt that appeared to have been hastily tailored. Still, it seemed to suit the man well.

"Prince Eomer, good of you to join us," he greeted the prince and gestured for him to sit in a chair arranged across from the two brothers, "I'd hoped we could discuss the Wizard."

Eomer nodded and sat down, without asking he poured himself a cup of the wine that was present on a small table. He quickly took a gulp and then spoke, "I'll start by saying I have no proof of the White Wizard's treason, only suspicion and circumstance."

Tywin nodded, "Suspicion and circumstance are often pathways to truth. Why not start with the latter?"

Eomer sighed, "The Wizard is the master of Isengard, he was given the keys to the tower several hundred years ago by all accounts."

"Several hundred years ago?" Kevan cut in, "surely you are mistaken-"

"I could believe this," Tywin said suddenly, "Whatever he is it is more than a man… in a land where all seasons come in a single year anything is possible." He left his own experience with the Wizard unsaid.

Eomer nodded, "The wizards have roamed the world for centuries, perhaps longer. Some say they are of elven blood, but it matters little for our purposes." He took another drink, sipping instead of a great gulp this time, "Saruman's duties included guardianship of the West, but in the past year there are reports of orcs about. The men of Dunland have also come in force to those parts in a way they haven't in decades. At the very least the Wizard is neglecting his duties. He has also raised a great stone ring around the tower of Orthanc, I worry he is preparing it to resist us."

Tywin took a sip of his own wine and considered this, "Can your uncle, King Theoden, not simply remove him from this post?"

Eomer sighed, "My uncle is… ill. His sickness is of the body and the mind. His counselor, Grima of the house of Galmod, fills his head with foolish advice and folly."

Now Tywin was interested, _It seems Aerys was not the only madman the gods granted a throne,_ "This Grima, he seeks to advance himself then?"

"More than that," Eomer scowled, "Not only does he fill the halls of Edoras with men answering only to him, he has alienated the King's sworn men. He has sought to pit Theodred and I against each other, but we see through him. All of these worry me little compared to the gazes he gives my sister Eowyn though."

"He wishes for marriage to your sister?" Kevan asked, stroking his short beard.

Eomer grimaced at the thought, "She would never consent and I would never allow it." He gripped his glass tightly.

Tywin considered this a moment, _The fisherman baits his hooks again,_ "It sounds as though this Grima is unfit for governance. The Seven Kingdoms have been bled terribly at the hands of unfit kings and foolish advisors, perhaps a regency is in order for his grace."

Eomer's eyes narrowed, "You overstep Lord Tywin…"

 _If you won't do it for your kingdom..._ "I apologize Prince Eomer, I was only thinking of your poor sister."

Eomer stared into his cup a moment, "Can I offer you a refill?" Kevan asked, filling his own cup to the brim. Eomer nodded and though Tywin hid his emotions inwardly he smiled. Kevan had sensed his intention and knew wine would grease the wheels turning in the young prince's head.

"Yes please," Eomer replied, turning his cup over to the younger Lannister. "A regency would be… complicated, I do not think Theodred and I could raise the men to do it. Not without leaving the realm undefended at any rate."

"Your plight moves me Lord Eomer, I would do all I could to help," Tywin said.

Eomer's eyebrows shot up, "You would send men to help guard Rohan while this matter was… settled?"

Tywin faked a sigh, "I must apologize Prince Eomer, I would provide you aid and shelter but I cannot ask my vassals to go to war for my personal feelings and friendship."

Eomer nodded sadly, "I feared as much, you have my thanks in any case."  
"Indeed, the lords of the Westerlands will not march to war without imminent threat… or family ties of course," Kevan said.

Eomer perked up a second, "family ties?" he asked. His speech was slightly slurred, it seemed that the wine of the Westerlands was stronger than that of Rohan as well as Gondor.

"Well if there were marriage ties between our families all would agree we would have reason to become involved," Tywin said, making quick eye contact with his brother, who smiled at him briefly.

Eomer shook his head, "No, no… impossible…"

"Quite the contrary," Tywin replied, "I've both an unmarried daughter, quite fertile I assure you, or if you desire I've granddaughter of the Royal Line who will come of age in just a few years." He paused a moment, "of course my brother here has a son, Lancel. I believe he greeted you."

Taking the cue his brother nodded, "A fine and stout lad if I do say so myself. Before being raised to knighthood he squired for King Robert Baratheon."

Tywin cut in, "I also have a son, Jaime, known to be the finest warrior in the Westerlands and my heir."

Eomer was silent for a time, Tywin and Kevan gave him time to think. "I could not very well save Eowyn from Grima by wedding her to a stranger," he sighed, "Perhaps Theodred or myself…" He looked at his cup and then set it down, when Kevan moved to refill it he shook his head, declining the offer. "Things are not so bad in Edoras that these drastic measures are necessary. I thank you for your offer and I will pass it to my cousin Theodred." He paused, "These words _cannot_ leave this room," he said suddenly.

"Of course, secrecy is a necessity in such matters," Tywin said, "wouldn't you agree Kevan?"

His brother nodded, "Nothing of this will leave our lips."

Eomer looked at them and nodded, "I grow weary, by your leave I would retire to my chambers…"

"You have my leave," Tywin said, doing his best kindly smile. Judging from Kevan's reaction it probably needed more work.

After the prince had gone he and Kevan discussed the potential of an alliance with Rohan, "He would be reliant on us to stay in power," Kevan said, "It would be ideal."

Tywin nodded, swirling his wine slowly. "We could also work towards evicting the Wizard from Orthanc, I share Eomer's suspicions. A man who builds a fortress expects a siege, he has been planning something since before The Arrival-"

They were interrupted by a sudden frantic knock on the door. Tywin frowned, _Who could that be at this hour?_ "Enter," he said.

It was maester Creylen, he had long served Casterly Rock though he'd never provided any words of advice Tywin had found particularly helpful, "Maester Creylen it is late, whatever has happened perhaps it can wait until-"

"It's Jaime Lord Tywin," the maester said, "He's..." Tywin could see the man's hands shaking and suddenly his blood ran cold.

"Out with it!" he suddenly roared.

The maester collected himself, "A raven has come from Minas Tirith from Lord Tyrion… Ser Jaime has been murdered by the men of Gondor."  
The shocked silence was broken by the sound of Tywin's cup hitting the floor.


	26. XXVI The Queen

**XXVI**

 **The Queen**

Cersei had found Minas Tirith to be a pleasant surprise, never had she been in a city so large that was so clean. Even Lannisport, with it's great sewers leading out to sea could not manage this level of hygiene. The people were not only respectful, but they seemed to genuinely enjoy her presence. When she had occasionally walked the streets of King's Landing the people had stopped and stared, occasionally there was some bowing or some cheers in the more well to do areas, but she was at best a spectacle to them. When she walked among the people of Minas Tirith she felt the way a queen should feel, flower petals were often thrown on her path and people bowed and curtsied with a smile. Vendors would often rush forward offering food or clothing as a token of their esteem, and improper though it was she found herself telling her guards to allow them to approach.

The only drawback was her fitful sleep, not knowing Joffrey's whereabouts had haunted her the entire journey. At least Tommen was at the Rock, and though she knew her father would be forcing the poor boy to practice the sword at least she took solace in the fact that he wouldn't be harmed. Joffrey though… On the way to Minas Tirith she'd asked one of the men from Dol Amroth about what was to the North of where the Westerlands now was. He'd told her it was nothing but wastes, she took a little comfort in that for she trusted Clegane to be more of a killer than anything in the woods, but still she wondered what had possessed him to go.

She'd told Jaime of Joffrey's departure on the first night. She'd hoped to convince him to leave in pursuit of the boy, to that end she had brought him two gifts. The first she'd given him between the bedsheets on the first night of her arrival. The second she hoped would perhaps be more convincing.

She'd invited him back to her chambers the next morning where she brought him over to a chest she'd had brought all the way from Casterly Rock, "Jaime," she said, "You are the only one who can bring Joffrey home. Will you not go to your son?"

He laughed, "Cersei, from what you've told me Devan has already gone for him. By the time I get to Enedwaith to begin searching they'll probably have found him already. Besides, Clegane is with him and the Hound is hardly going to let a bear gobble the boy up."

She frowned, "Don't joke about such things…" She sighed, "I have brought you something I think might convince you otherwise." With a flourish she opened the trunk revealing what appeared to be a pile of rags.

"Impressive," Jaime said with a sarcastic smile.

She sighed, "Underneath them Jaime, I didn't want anyone to know I had it…"

He reached down and pulled them aside, the sudden glint of steel underneath made him pause suddenly before pulling a great sheet aside revealing the greatsword. It bore a roaring lion engraved on the pommel, and the brilliant rippled patterns gave it away as Valyrian steel.

 _"Brightroar,"_ Jaime whispered, "Cersei, how?"

She smiled, pleased with his reaction. "Uncle Gerion's ship, the first day of the arrival it crashed into a beach outside the rock… it was with his body, I pried it from his cold dead hands and secreted it away." She touched his face fondly, "There is only one man in all the world worthy of wielding this blade, and I love him."

Jaime lifted it up and hefted it in his hands, "I'm not used to greatswords, I'll need to practice with it… it's so light." He mock swung it a few times.

Cersei rolled her eyes, "A sword's a sword isn't it?"

Jaime shook his head, "No, I typically use a longsword and a shield." He thought a minute, "Boromir! He could teach me to use this."

Cersei's smile faded, "There will be time for that when you've returned Joffrey home perhaps."

He looked at her uncomfortably, "Cersei, there is nothing I can do for Joffrey now, sword or no. In any case what would our hosts think if I left so suddenly?"

"Damn what they think!" She shouted suddenly, "your _son_ needs you!"

He put the flat of the sword over his shoulder, "Cersei, I'm sorry, but Joffrey will return either with Daven or on his own, not with me."

She stared at him angrily as he left, with a huff she decided to find Myrcella and prepare a new set of garments for them. Word around the city was that Tyrion would be returning soon and the Steward was planning to host him a banquet as he had for the other two Lannister siblings. She cared little for the imp, but she still wanted to impress the knights and ladies of Minas Tirith.

Some hours later she joined several of the royal ladies of Minas Tirith at the practice yard. While the Gondorian ladies were in many ways more sophisticated than their counterparts in King's Landing she had found that Jaime and Boromir's bouts before the white tree had introduced the contagion of watching men at arms practice their arts. She sighed as she watched the several ladies enter. At least they'd brought proper fans, it wasn't yet warm in the White City but a fan bearing a house sigil was an important part of any lady's wear even in Spring. Looking about she saw the flowers of Lossnach, the Swan-ship of Dol Amroth, many white trees of Minas Tirith… and one bearing the clams of House Westerling.

With a frown she walked over the brown haired girl, "That's no banner of Gondor," she said.

With a flourish the girl lowered the fan, "My apologies Queen Mother Cersei, I meant no deception. I am Jeyne Westerling, of the Crag. I do not believe we have met."

Cersei's eyes narrowed, "As the Gondorians say well met Jeyne Westerling. I was not aware any other Westerosi ladies had traveled so far afield."

She blushed, "Well my mother wanted to ask your Lord Father permission, but my father insisted I travel here over the winter," she said with a smile.

 _The fool girl doesn't even know what her father wants, and less why her mother counsels against it,_ Cersei thought, "I see, I'll have to write about you in my next letter home." It was a veiled threat but the girl seemed oblivious.

"Oh that would be wonderful!" the girl said smiling, "The maester Lord Tywin sent here says the ravens are still being trained, it may be some time before they are available for non-emergency use."

Cersei smiled, the gesture filled with false niceties, "It will wait then, but it will go out eventually."

Jaime and Boromir entered the small practice field now, Cersei noted that where normally there was a chalk ring to mark the boundaries today there were only four wooden posts to mark the general combat area. Jaime unsheathed Brightroar, it's strange rippled pattern causing a gasp to go up among the assembled ladies.

Boromir stared, "Jaime, where did you find such a blade?" he asked incredulously.

Jaime laughed, "'Twas delivered to me by an angel bright and fair."

Boromir grinned, "Now I know why you wanted to practice with greatswords today…" Boromir drew his own sword, the finest Gondor had to offer, "I suspect you'll be wanting a refresher?"

With a grin Jaime nodded, "I haven't used a greatsword regularly since my days as a squire for old Sumner Crakehall, he was fond of certain legends and liked all his squires to use a two handed sword at least a few times."

Boromir's eyebrow raised, "Certain legends Ser Jaime?"

Jaime shrugged, "The tale of the Big Goron's sword is popular in Crakehall, during the Age of Heroes a young lad supposedly traded a number of items, each only slightly greater in value than the last, until he could convince a legendary smith to grant him a greatsword so sharp it could cleave boulders in two."

"Seems like a lot of work just for a sword that won't break," Boromir said with a laugh.

"My thoughts exactly, but it's passed into story now and everyone in Crakehall's lands says it's better than any legend that came after it," Jaime replied, "But enough of that nonsense, tell me how a man uses one of these things!"

Boromir slowly approached with his own greatsword, "The first principle of a two-handed sword is that reach is your shield, if the foe comes at you with greater armor than your own you must kill him before he reaches you."

Jaime nodded, "I'd guessed as much, but what if a man is inside one's reach?"

Boromir moved quickly to Jaime, who allowed him to do so without resistance, and put his blade against Brightroar. "You must use the guard and the pommel to catch an enemy blade and put it in a position where you can strike the foe but he cannot strike you." He paused a minute looking at Jaime's golden armor, "against an armored foe you thrust with all your might to pierce it, against the less protected enemy a great blow from such a sword is a quick way to end any fight."

Jaime nodded, "Well and good, but I've always learned best by doing, let's have a round."

The two men circled each other to the oohing and ahhing of the ladies, _It didn't take them long to learn this game_ , Cersei thought, _Any of them would be begging for marriage to the winner of even the smallest tournament in Westeros._ Suddenly Boromir lunged forward and brought his sword up in a great strike that was to come down on Jaime's shoulder. With a quick move Jaime blocked the strike, sending sparks into the air.

"Like this?" Jaime asked as he suddenly shifted his weight to bring Boromir's blade in contact with the guard of Brightroar.

"Yes!" Boromir said smiling, "You were meant for the sword Jaime," he suddenly leapt backwards, an impressive feat in full armor, and now stood just beyond Jaime's reach. "Come on, try it on the attack!"

Jaime grinned and swung his full body weight in a vicious upward swing against Boromir's sword. The Gondorian for his part easily moved to block it, but then with a strange ripping noise Brightroar tore completely through the Captain's sword.

The ladies, who had been gossiping amongst themselves, suddenly fell quiet, and Boromir looked at his stump of a blade for a moment silently. Jaime had stopped the attack, staring in wonder.

"Jaime… that is one hell of a sword," Boromir said, "Is it dwarf forged? Has some Elven smith decided to sell his wares here in Minas Tirith?"

With a smile he handed the sword to Boromir for examination, "Valyrian steel, nothing holds an edge like it, you could chop a tree in half and it would still be just as sharp."

"It's so light," Boromir said with wonder, "If you won't tell me where you got yours will you tell me where I can get my own?"

With a flourish Jaime sheathed the blade, "Nowhere now, the technique for making it was lost long ago and the blades were rare even in Westeros. Brightroar here might be the last one left in all the world."

"Unfortunate," the Gondorian replied, "I could've used a blade like that. In the future though it is perhaps better not to practice with it," he pointed to his ruined sword, "I can't afford to lose a blade every time we spar."

Jaime smiled, "noted."

They were preparing for a new round when a man ran up the stairs to the courtyard level, "Ser Jaime, Lord Boromir, Faramir and a company of Lannister men are approaching Osgiliath."

"That must be Tyrion, will you go with me to greet him Boromir?" Jaime asked.

"Certainly, at any rate I need to find out why Faramir is back so soon, come let's go see them," Boromir replied.

As they walked to the stables the assembled ladies began to disperse in pairs, gossiping about seeing Jaime's sword. Cersei seethed, for she was certain not all of them meant the sword in his hands.

"Will you come with us Cersei?" Her annoyance was interrupted by Jaime.  
She shook her head, "No I think I'll pass on greeting the imp, I'll be forced to endure his presence tonight at dinner no doubt."

Jaime sighed and walked away. With a huff she retired to her apartment in the tower of the sun, Myrcella was gone when she arrived, and Cersei remembered that she was off with a number of other young girls who were all attempting to learn the harp from some noblewoman or another. She decided to pour herself a goblet of wine.

She was brooding over Jaime's refusal to go after Joffrey when her door opened. Expecting her daughter she turned and was surprised to see Tyrion standing there alone. She gave a false smile, "Tyrion, I suppose having seen the beauty of House Lannister it is only fair to show them the beast as well."

Strangely he returned her grin, walking toward her with a confidence she didn't think she'd ever seen in the little man. "Yes I am quite beastly aren't I? "The imp" isn't that what they called me at court?" he poured himself a cup of wine from Cersei's pitcher, "Cersei, sister… I've come to ask you a rather personal question."

 _Oh this will be good_ , She thought to herself, "And what might that be?"

"Why have you always hated me?"

The question took her aback, but she wasted no time answering it, "Your birth killed my mother, and instead of having the decency to die you grew into… into."

"An imp?"

"Yes." She said glowering at him.

He sighed, "I never knew our mother, sometimes I hated her because everyone blamed me for her death… sometimes I blamed myself." He paused a moment and Cersei wondered if he would shed a tear, he didn't.

"Die then, go and rid the world of your wretched self," she spat.

He looked at her angrily now, "I don't know what I hoped to accomplish speaking to you, for all that you are cruel you are my sister and I'd hoped to have some account with you…" He got up and walked toward the door, when he reached it he turned and looked her dead in the eyes, "The Valonqar comes Cersei." She stared in shock as he left the room.


	27. XXVII Tyrion Lannister

**XXVII**

 **Tyrion Lannister**

Tyrion looked out over the city of Minas Tirith, the Steward had provided him an apartment in the tower of the Sun and the balcony provided a spectacular view. It was a crisp clear spring night carrying a lingering winter chill but not to a degree that made the outdoors uncomfortable. He swirled his wine a little in his cup and stared at the low lights flickering below, the sight calmed him somehow.

It was the eve of his final victory, the revenge for an entire lifetime of scorn and humiliation. He knew he should feel excitement, jubilation, perhaps fear or trepidation… but as he watched the dancing flames of thousands of lives he just felt empty, even the wine seemed tasteless. His eyes lingered on the ring he now wore on his right hand and he felt his mind slip back to Minas Morgul.

It was all still somewhat blurry to him, but he remembered enough. The first day in the Tower of the Moon had been the worst. He had awoken strapped bodily to a great table, cruel curved blades hung on the walls and through a skylight the pale white light illuminated the room revealing a pair of figures there.

"The little lion is awake I see," he recognized the Mouth of Sauron. Turning to the other, a great hooded man in a dark black robe, he felt a sudden chill and then absolute terror. "Tell me Tyrion Lannister, what do you know of fear?" The Mouth asked.

Finding his voice he piped up, "W-What is the meaning of this? I am an envoy! Do you want war you fool?"

Now the hooded figure approached him and drew back the covering, upon seeing what lay underneath Tyrion gasped and then screamed in horror. Where a head should have been two great flaming eyes stared into him, and a black jagged crown sat above them.

" _I am the Witch-King of Angmar, lord of the Nazgul."_ His voice was a deep dark rumbling thing, hearing it made him feel as though gravel were being dragged over his heart.

Tyrion struggled futilely, "I do not care who you are, my father will-"

" _The first lesson I shall teach you is that you are beyond help now. Call to your friends and allies, few will hear and none will come."_ Before Tyrion could say anything the being touched a finger to his forehead and a terrible icy pain wracked his entire body.

As he writhed in pain he cried out, "JAIME!"

 _"Your brother is not here Tyrion"_ another great shock, his arms strained against his bonds.

"BRONN! BRONN SAVE ME!"

" _Why would he come for you? He is only a sellsword, a whore with a blade."_ He removed his glove revealing a smoky skeletal hand, " _whores are not your friends Lord Tyrion, they desire your gold and nothing more."_ He touched Tyrion's forehead causing a scream that nearly broke his voice, the touch of that hand made the first two shocks feel like a lover's kiss.

"My father…" Tyrion wimpered, "he'll kill you all… kill you all…"

 _"He would thank us for ridding him of you."_

Tyrion just sobbed, he knew on some level it was true. His father hadn't marched to war for him, he'd marched to war for House Lannister. Jaime was the only one in his family who'd ever shown him anything resembling kindness.

As if reading his thoughts the Mouth spoke, "Is your brother really any better?"

Tyrion sniffed and did his best to blink tears from his eyes, "Jaime does care for me, and when he hears what you've done here he will make you pay for this."

The Mouth laughed, "Will he now? Your pain is merely a demonstration of Sauron's power." He grinned broadly, "Lord Tyrion the great eye sees _many_ things, even things of your world past…" he smiled, "Fire and blood, that's what befell the Seven Kingdoms in your absence… but I suppose that is irrelevant now." He withdrew something from within his black robes, Tyrion could see it was a gold ring with a square blue stone set in it. "The Dark Lord is prepared to give you many gifts once you have entered his service, this first among them."

"I think I can afford my own tasteless jewelry thank you-," he was cut off by the Mouth swiftly forcing the ring onto his finger.

There was a sound like rushing water and suddenly he felt… he wasn't sure, it was like the careless confidence of drunkenness tenfold, but instead of clouded he felt a mental clarity he hadn't in ages. He took in a deep breath, he turned to the two in the room and he could see the Witch King in full now, a great white ghostly figure that glowed in the room's low light. He gasped.

" _You see now that I am beyond life and death,"_ he said, " _in time you may earn this form…"_

Instead of fear Tyrion now felt wonder, "immortality… how?"

" _The ring Lord Tyrion, it brings greatness of mind, body, spirit… and power beyond compare."_ He pulled a small dagger from the wall and cut through Tyrion's bonds. " _The Master has watched you Lord Tyrion, you have the potential to be great among men if you will only accept the chance._ "

Tyrion sat up rubbing his wrists, "Was the torture necessary to give me this offer?" he spat.

 _"You are whole are you not?"_ The Nazgul said, " _It is the easiest way to ensure that you know your place and cooperate."_

"I suppose I can forgive it once in light of this," he said looking at the ring, even as he said it he felt his mind moving faster. He studied the Witch King's form, "The ring… it lets one see the unseen?"

 _"It allows mortal eyes to see the spirit world, though it will be many years before you can enter it yourself,"_ The witch king replied.

"Now you see the true glory of the Lord of the Rings," the Mouth said, "the folly of those who oppose him, and the rewards that await those who serve him faithfully." He paused a moment, "Will you serve him faithfully Lord Tyrion?"

Tyrion looked at the ring on his finger, it was… pleasing to say the least. "What does he desire? I could be persuaded to assist Mordor if there are proper incentives."

 _"You will bring the Westerlands to war with Gondor and her allies, between our forces we will crush them and all of Middle Earth will fall under the shadow of Mordor,"_ Somehow he could see it, the great streaming lion banners of House Lannister, him at the head of an army, the white tree of Minas Tirith burning.

Tyrion frowned, "I'm afraid that my father is unlikely to march to war on my word alone."

"If the Dark Lord believed your father was up to this task the ring would have been presented to him. You will rule the Westerlands in the Dark Lord's name, you will lead it's armies to victory against the men of Gondor," the Mouth said, "The eye does not make mistakes."

Tyrion was silent a moment, "Then the Dark Lord's plans include the death of my father?"

"They do."

He stroked his chin, "I've thought about it many times…" his mind went to Jaime, "My brother, I'd not have him harmed… Even if I agreed to this madness how am I to succeed my father when I am not his eldest son?"  
" _Sir Jaime is not the friend you believe him to be Lord Tyrion…"_

He looked to the Witch-King, the pale form still unnerved him but did not prevent his anger from coming through, "Do not speak ill of Jaime, he has been my only true friend, the only person in my entire life who cared for me instead of my gold."

" _You lie Tyrion Lannister, there was another,"_ The witch-king quickly reached forward to touch his forehead again, this time instead of pain a vision flashed before his eyes. He saw himself as a boy, Jaime too, riding alongside a road.

He recognized the scene, "I don't want to see this, stop."

The witch king made no reply and the scene continued as it had in his memory. The pale young girl on the side of the road, the group of strange men attacking her, the small scuffle as Jaime had driven them off. He watched with sadness as he saw himself look into Tysha's blue eyes for the first time.

"I'll do whatever you want, please just don't make me live through this again!"

The scene progressed, he married her in a small sept outside Lannisport, only Jaime as a witness and an old half blind Septon to officiate. There had been brief happiness… then his father's men had come. They'd taken her, one by one, as he was forced to watch. Each paying a silver coin to her. His father had made him do so last, giving her a gold coin for the deed.

"A Lannister is worth more than a commoner Tyrion, remember that," the shade of his father said.

 _"And why would he do this Lord Tyrion?"_ the Witch-King appeared next to him, " _Why would they take away the only one who ever loved you?"_

"She never loved me," Tyrion said bitterly, "she loved my coin and the promise of more to come."

" _Tyrion you will find in time that the power of your ring will let you divine truths even when presented with lies… for now I shall do it for you."_  
Suddenly they were at the Rock, Jaime and his father were yelling at each other.

"Father they love each other, you must not do this!" Jaime shouted

"Jaime a member of House Lannister, even a stunted one such as him, cannot be wasted on a commoner. It would be an embarrassment that would last generations," his father said sternly, "Tyrion is in need of a harsh lesson for this folly."

"I will not-"

"You will," his father cut Jaime off, "Tell him that this girl was a common whore. That will end this pathetic infatuation and hopefully lead your fool brother to act with more wisdom in the future."

Suddenly they were back in the Tower of the Moon. Tyrion fell to his knees, "Jaime… he told Jaime to tell me she was a whore, that means-"

 _"She was as she appeared,_ " The Witch-King finished for him, " _A girl who loved you, and they took that love from you out of pettiness."  
_  
Tyrion began crying again, "Go! Leave me!" Without a word the Nazgul and the Mouth left the tower, leaving him in darkness. He'd brooded and cried on and off until night came, leaving him to collapse into physical and emotional exhaustion. Even in his sleep his anger and sadness roared through his dreams, a cruel burning feeling that poisoned his mind.

He awoke to the sound of the tower door opening, sitting up he saw the Witch-King enter without the Mouth this time.

" _What now Lord Tyrion? Will you accept your place at the Dark Lord's side?"  
_  
"Yes," he seethed, "I'll kill them all, Jaime, Father…" in spite of his anger he thought a moment, "Cersei too, perhaps my whole family." He laughed suddenly, a mad cackling sound, "My father took what I loved, _he_ loves his precious family name more than anything, I'll take that from him I think."

" _Good, arrangements will be made in preparation for your return… you will find that all you desire awaits you Lord Tyrion… gold, women,"_

"Golden women?" Tyrion asked sarcastically, "Spare me, when I rule the Westerlands I will not need Sauron to give me such pleasantries, all I need from him is revenge." He thought a moment, "We will need the Westerlands lords to march to war under my father, it would be some time before I could gather them as he could…"

" _And how will you do this?"_ The nazgul asked.

Tyrion smiled, "Jaime, he and Cersei are in Gondor now. If he dies there my father will raise it to the ground… and bring himself right to me." He laughed madly though a few tears still came through, "The battlefield can be such a dangerous place, even for a commander."

" _An attempt on your brother's life was already made by one of our clumsier servants… We have learned he is strong, and he is in the heart of Minas Tirith. It will not be easy."_

"Jaime is the finest swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms," Tyrion spat, "I've won more than my share of gold betting on him in tourneys and more than his share of men have died after betting their lives they could match him on the battlefield." He smiled evilly, "But he is not a clever man, a knife in the shadows? He would never see it coming."

He spent the rest of the day with the Witch-King planning his visit to Minas Tirith. He would make sure Jaime died there. Cersei would die too, there was a part of him that had wanted to force her to live in a world without Jaime or any of her children, but ultimately it would be for the best to dispose of her there.

He had a thought, "I think I'll tell my father about Jaime and Cersei before I kill him," he said suddenly, "I want to see the light leave his eyes, that his precious son fucked his own sister right before I choke the life from him."

" _A fitting reward for one who treated you so cruelly,"_ The Witch-King replied.

With a sigh he let his mind return to the present in Minas Tirith. Now that he had seen Jaime, the cocky smile and golden hair, he had felt less sure of his plan… but every time he was about to confront his brother a voice whispered in his ear, " _remember Tysha"_ and his anger would return.

He'd been able to find the courage to see Cersei alone, in spite of everything she was his sister and he'd hoped to have some final words with her before he carried out his plan… if anything she'd only made him more committed to his course. He smiled remembering his final words to her, that same voice had whispered just the right thing to say. He knew the word _Valonqar_ held some significance to her, but he didn't particularly care what it was so long as it upset her.

Jaime though… He sighed and drained his cup. The die was cast, the letter sent. Jaime would pay, his father would pay, the whole gods-damned world would pay. He saw the first light of dawn beginning to break over the horizon. He heard a lumbering noise and then the door to his chamber opened, he turned to see Gregor Clegane in his full armor.

"It's nearly time Lord Tyrion," the mountain said.

He smiled thinly, "Yes, I suppose we should get to our own positions. Is our escape route secured?"

Gregor nodded, smiling at the prospect of blood being spilled, "Everything is prepared as you ordered, we should be able to get through the gates and past the outer wall by the time they know what we've done."

"Good," Tyrion said, "You will receive all that is promised and more Ser Clegane." The big knight nodded and left the room. He looked at the lion engraved on the side of his cup, " _Hear me Roar,"_ he whispered to himself.


	28. XXVIII The Golden Knight

**XXVIII**

 **The Golden Knight**

Jaime was hoping to see Tyrion and talk more of his travels in Mordor, but it seemed the little man had been busy every time he'd tried. That morning he'd gone to his brother's chambers to find he was already gone.

"Must've spent the night in a whorehouse somewhere," Jaime muttered to himself. He turned to walk back outside trying to decide the best way to spend the day. He passed Clegane and a few fellows he didn't recognize practicing in the yard, he waved at them politely. Clegane returned the wave with a smile, odd since Jaime couldn't recall ever seeing him do so when a man wasn't about to die. He put it out of his mind and went to find Boromir.

The Gondorian was two levels down inspecting one of the trebuchets that lined the walls of the White City, "You don't need to wear armor to operate a trebuchet," he heard Boromir saying.

The soldier he was talking to shifted uncomfortably, "but Captain, what of stray arrows or orcs that breach the walls?"

Boromir sighed, "Look, it slows you down in an area where your speed is more important than being able to take a glancing blow from a blade. If the orcs breach the walls you'll have plenty of time to run to the armory and suit up. Do you think the enemy is going to fly up here somehow and fight you?"

The soldier looked at the ground, "No sir,"

"Good, resume your duties." He turned to see Jaime, glancing back to see the man had gone back to his post by the trebuchet he shook his head, "The men on the trebuchets all want to wear shining armor while the young ladies walk by," He grinned suddenly, "I believe it's your sister that leads them in such processions isn't it?"

Jaime returned the smile, "Yes that sounds like her, I've heard there's a fellow somewhere down on the third level who makes a living selling those ridiculous fans now." Their conversation was interrupted by the approach of Bronn the sellsword.

"Ser Jaime," he said bowing slightly, "Lord Boromir, I come with a message from your father and brother, they need to meet with you immediately."

Boromir's brow furrowed, "That's odd, did they say what we needed to discuss?"

"Only that you must see them right now," Bronn replied.

"Where are they?" Boromir asked.

"A gatehouse one level up from here, I'm to take you to them."

The Gondorian nodded, "Very well, lead on." He turned to Jaime suddenly, "Jaime would you inspect the trebuchet for me?"

Jaime frowned, "I know little of the workings-"

"Just have the crew mock-fire a few times to make sure it all works," Boromir said as he walked away.

Jaime sighed and turned to the crewman, who was now wearing plain leathers instead of shining armor, "Well get your men then, I suppose we should do as he asks."

They operated the trebuchet a few times until he dismissed them out of boredom. He milled about for some time waiting for Boromir to come back until a short man with dark hair whom he didn't recognize approached him.

"Are you ser Jaime?" the man asked.

"I am, and what is your business with me?" He replied, arms crossed.

"I am a messenger hired by your sister to bring you this," he said, his accent was odd, but Jaime paid it no mind. The man quickly produced a small scroll with a wax lion seal on it.

Jaime was about to fish a coin from his pocket to tip the man but the messenger quickly turned and left without a word, "Strange fellow," Jaime muttered to himself. He tore the seal from the scroll and looked over it.

 _Jaime,_  
 _Meet me in my chambers. Come alone._

He smiled and felt his loins stirring, he looked one last time for Boromir before beginning the journey back to the Tower of the Sun.

He walked through the outer courtyard containing the tree, Clegane was still sparring with the men from earlier, though he did not greet Jaime this time. He pushed open the great doors to the throne room and immediately saw Cersei seated on the stewards throne, "Jaime! It's a –"

"Oh that's enough of that I think," he heard Tyrion's voice, his younger brother was seated on the throne of Gondor itself. At his command a man garbed in black robes placed his hand over Cersei's mouth silencing her.

Jaime looked around confused, suddenly seeing several bodies around the room, four redcloaks he knew to be Cersei's personal guards, as well as two of the winged-helmet wearing citadel guard. From behind pillars and columns men appeared, dressed in those same black robes which covered their faces save for their eyes. They wore curved scimitars and each had a bow over his back as well. Jaime counted perhaps a dozen in total.

"Tyrion, what the hell is this?" he asked shocked.

Tyrion smiled, "Why Jaime, surely someone so used to betrayal can recognize it when he sees it?"

Now Jaime drew his sword, "Clegane!" he yelled, "Get in here!" He turned expecting to see the Mountain coming to his aid but instead Gregor approached the doors and pulled them back shut, a wicked smile on his face.

"Clegane is going to make sure we're able to finish this little conversation in peace," Tyrion said with a smile. He looked at Jaime's blade, "Why don't you drop that, a blade in your hand is a blade at our dear sister's throat brother."

Jaime saw the man at Cersei's side produce a dagger and move it dangerously close to Cersei's neck. With a scowl he dropped the blade, one of the men scurried forward and took it.

"I can't believe I ever called you brother," Jaime spat, "Is the Rock so important to you that you'd resort to kinslaying for it?"

Tyrion laughed madly, "The Rock? Piss on the Rock, I don't care for it any more than you do. No Jaime, this is revenge, revenge for what you and father did to my wife."

Jaime's blood ran cold, _his wife?_ "Tyrion, Tysha was-"

"A whore? Spare me Jaime, I know the truth. She's the only woman who saw me as anything more than an easy source of coin. And you… you were my brother Jaime, you were my sword and my shield." Tyrion's eyes were filling with tears now, he wiped some away causing the blue stone in his ring to glimmer brightly in the morning sun filtering in from the great skylights above. "The only man I could ever truly call my friend…"

Jaime felt a deep shame, desperate to say something, anything, he started, "Tyrion-"

"No!" His brother screamed, "You don't get to talk today, you don't get to make excuses… Kill him, Kill him now!" At his word a number of the black robed men rushed forward, swords drawn, there was a piteous scream from Cersei that cut through the man's hand.

Jaime looked around frantically, noticing a brazier on the wall he ran to it and quickly pulled the torch free, desperate to have a weapon in hand, even if it was just a piece of wood. _Brightroar,_ he thought suddenly, _it's in my chamber. Does Tyrion know about it?_ Deciding it was his only chance he hurled the unlit torch as hard as he could at the approaching man nearest to the hallway that led to the tower. With a sick cracking sound it made contact with his forehead, _At least they're not wearing armor,_ Jaime thought as he bolted towards the hall.

"You can't hide from me Jaime!" Tyrion's enraged voice echoed behind him and he could hear several of the men's footsteps racing just a few paces back. As he reached the door to his room he burst through the door with such force that it ripped off it's hinges with a great crashing sound bringing him to the floor with it. Looking about frantically he saw Brightroar, still sheathed, leaning against his nightstand. He scrambled to his feet, the first of the men was inside the door now, he grabbed the sheathed greatsword and brutally swung it like a club into the man's face. He could hear the crunch of the hooded man's nose breaking and his foe staggered back, blocking the doorway.

He took the opportunity to unsheathe the Valyrian blade. With a roar he plunged it into the man's chest and he dropped. By now the other two men that had chased him were there and Jaime brought his sword up and then down swiftly in a chopping motion towards the nearest one's head. The man quickly moved to parry his strike, but his eyes briefly registered shock as Brightroar cut the Eastern steel in half before continuing to cleave his head in two.

The other man saw his chance and moved to slash at Jaime's belly while the greatsword was still buried in his comrade's head, but Jaime simply let go of Brightroar and quickly caught the man's wrist before he could complete the swing. With his other arm he elbowed the man in the face, staggering him and causing him to drop the blade, a strong kick sent him to the ground. Jaime picked up the scimitar and with a downward thrust planted it firmly in the man's ribcage, he rasped a wet death rattle as he breathed his last.

He turned to pull Brightroar out of the skull of the first attacker, and after wiping the blade on the dead man's black robe he walked back towards the throne room.

"Time to go finish that little talk," he muttered to himself.


	29. XXIX The Second Son

**XXIX**

 **The Second Son**

Faramir and his father had met in a gatehouse on the sixth level of the white city, the citadel itself was being used to house all three of the Lannister siblings and his father the Steward had hoped that Tyrion could be apprehended without alarming Jaime and Cersei. Though lore on the topic was scarce the hope was that removing the ring from the little man would end whatever corruption Sauron had planted in him. If not… well Gandalf could come quickly and if he proved too troublesome to hold a blade could come quicker still. Faramir grimaced at the thought, he'd liked Tyrion Lannister, but that friendship would be only the latest the war had stolen from him.

Boromir and Bronn entered, his father nodded in approval to see that Boromir was wearing ceremonial armor already, "Good, you're prepared for a fight."

Boromir frowned, "And who exactly are we fighting?"

"Tyrion Lannister bears one of the rings of power," Denethor replied.

Boromir gasped, " _The one?"_ he whispered.

Denethor sighed, "No, most likely one of the Seven. In any case the corruption has started, we must remove it from him. At best he merely acts as a spy for the enemy, at worst a knife in the dark inside our own walls."

Boromir nodded, "So we're going to march up to the Tower of the Sun and take it then?"

"Yes, Faramir believes he's snuck someone or something into the city… as usual your brother's reports carry much wild speculation."

Boromir looked to him, "What do you base this claim on Faramir?"

"I found a number of empty barrels in a wagon that supposedly contained Westerlands wine, it was brought up to the citadel stables on the orders of Tyrion Lannister shortly after he arrived."

Boromir stroked his chin, "That does sound suspicious, but if we take him unawares he won't have time to gather whoever or whatever he's brought. Let's go."

The small party walked as one through the second level, it was mostly homes of wealthy merchants and noble houses, so there were few on the streets during the day. They were almost to the stairs leading to the top level when Faramir heard a familiar deep booming voice.

"Well now, where're the Steward's sons and a sellsword off to?" Lyle Crakehall said.

Looking to his side Faramir saw the strongboar seated at a bench alongside the road, a wineskin on one side and Shagga the clansmen to the other.

"Seems to Shagga that they are off to a fight," the mountain man said as he took the wine from Crakehall. He took a deep swig.

"What in the seven hells are you two fools doing here?" Bronn asked impatiently.

"Queen Mother Cersei often walks past here with her lady friends, Shagga and I had nothing else to do so we thought we'd perhaps greet them here and offer to be their escorts," the strongboar said with a grin.

Faramir noticed that Crakehall was wearing a full set of armor which had been polished to a point where the party's reflection could be seen in it, the boar of house Crakehall engraved on the front being the only imperfection. For his part Shagga was wearing a silk shirt, though the buttons strained to contain his bulk. His hair was combed and his beard was braided, but this just made him seem even more out of place somehow. He had one of his axes with him, and like Crakehall's armor it had been thoroughly polished.

Bronn scowled, "look, we're on important business, you two get out of here."

Crakehall frowned, "you don't own the street sellsword."

"No but _he_ does," he jerked a thumb back at Denethor, who was approaching from the rear of the party.

"What is the meaning of this delay? Are these men in league with Lord Tyrion?" the steward asked.

Crakehall and Shagga laughed at that, "Hell no," Crakehall said, "I'm never doing anything for that little cunt ever again. You lot going after him?"

Faramir shifted uncomfortably, "Lord Tyrion is… unwell. We need to apprehend him and get him the help he needs."

Crakehall and Shagga looked to one another and then stood up in unison, "Now look, if that's some sort of euphemism Shagga and I are not fancy folk, just say what you mean."

Shagga nodded in agreement, "Halfman owes Shagga gold, you will not hurt him until he has paid Shagga."

Denethor gave an annoyed sigh, "We will take him alive, if the two of you assist in this I can promise you will be rewarded and likely have the thanks of his father too once word of this reaches him."

Crakehall nodded, "Seems reasonable to me, that little bastard hasn't been right since we left Mordor. We'll help you grab him." He looked to Shagga who nodded in agreement, "It's settled then, where's he at?"

"Follow me," Boromir said, taking a position at the head of the party. The group marched up the stairs to the citadel, Shagga and Crakehall now on their flanks. In the courtyard Gregor Clegane stood in his great armor, sword and shield at his side, along with five other men wearing the scaled armor and curved helms that Faramir recognized as Easterling work.

Seeing them approach Clegane closed his helm, hiding his face, "I'm afraid Lord Tyrion is having a private conversation with his brother, you'll have to come back another time."

 _Jaime,_ Faramir thought frantically, _he means to murder Jaime!_ "Ser Clegane you are outnumbered, stand aside and I promise no harm will come to you."

This just made the Mountain laugh, "Outnumbered by what? A pair of spoiled princelings and an old man?" He looked at the rangers who seemed intimidated by the man's size and the thick steel he wore, "Those ones are already pissing themselves," he looked to Crakehall, "Oh how the old boar will mourn when he hears how I've made the little piggy squeal."

Crakehall's face turned red and his nostrils flared, "You know Clegane, I've never cared for you. Orders are orders but it doesn't take big man to kill women and children, it takes a big cunt." He spat on the ground and continued, "And as the "old boar" always told me a big cunt isn't good for anything but a sloppy fuck."

A roar of anger went up from Clegane and he charged towards Crakehall, taking his que the Easterling men rushed forward screaming battle cries in their strange tongue.

"Protect the Steward!" Boromir yelled, and three of Faramir's men grabbed Denethor before he could say anything and hauled him bodily back down the staircase to the lower level. For his own part Boromir drew his sword and rushed forward to meet one of the men from Rhun.

The Easterling was a fine swordsman, and Faramir was finding it difficult to land a killing blow. He was on the defensive, he'd worn the leather armor customary of the rangers of Gondor while the other man's scales let him take glancing blows with ease. Eventually he shifted the man's blade upwards and while their swords were tangled he drew a knife from his belt and shoved it through the eyeholes in the other man's helmet. He went limp and dropped.

He looked over the courtyard, Clegane had reached Crakehall and brought that terrible greatsword down in a blow that would cleave a man in two. Reacting quickly the strongboar had brought his own sword up to block it while bracing his mailed hand against the flat of the blade. The blow made a great clanging noise and Faramir saw with dismay that Crakehall's sword had bent from the impact. The mountain raised his blade again and Faramir, fearing the worst, ran towards the knight. _Too far_ , he thought with dismay.

He was relieved to see Shagga come screaming from the Mountain's other side hefting that great axe high, judging from the blood on it and the now headless Easterling on the ground behind him it wouldn't be his first kill of the day. Unable to complete the blow against Crakehall Clegane turned and raised his shield blocking Shagga's attack. Crakehall scurried to his feet and ran towards the Easterling's corpse behind Shagga, dropping his own ruined sword and scooping up the dead man's.

Faramir was prevented from entering the fight by the appearance of another attacker, he saw one of his men on the ground behind him, blood pooling around him from a wound across his back. He blocked the savage blows from the Easterling as best he could, he saw out of the corner of his eye that Boromir was approaching the Mountain from behind, his greatsword drawn. With a great thrust his brother penetrated the steel plate armor and Clegane roared in pain. Seeing their opening Crakehall and Shagga both struck him together and the big knight fell with a thud that shook the earth.

Seeing the Easterling distracted by the sound Faramir stabbed him through the throat, looking around he saw all the men were dead. Bronn was standing over one himself, stripping the Easterling of several pieces of jewelry he'd been wearing. His father was coming back up the stairs, a sword in his own hand and at least forty guards behind him in full armor.

He looked around, seeing that Boromir and Faramir were safe he nodded, "Open the doors to the citadel. He walked towards the Mountain's body while the guards rushed forward, when he was close Shagga, who's silk shirt had ripped open now, raised a hand.

"A man this big is like a bear, Shagga has killed bears before." He raised his axe and brought it down on Clegane's head, cleaving through the helm and smashing his head like a ripe melon. He grinned, "There, now he is truly dead." He hefted the weapon over his shoulder and walked to join the men gathering around the Citadel doors. Faramir grimaced at the big man's ruined head and then followed him.

Boromir had again taken a place at the lead, "So much for grabbing him quickly," his brother muttered as he pushed the doors open. The scene inside the citadel was a charnel house, Faramir counted at least ten dead bodies on the floor, a few guards of the Citadel, several of the Lannister redcloaks… and a number of men dressed in the black robes of the Haradrim. Looking up at the throne he could see the stunted form of Tyrion Lannister sitting atop the king's throne, while Cersei, the queen mother, seemed tied to his father's own. Both of them turned towards the newcomers, shock on their faces.

In the corner of the room seven of the men seemed to have penned in Jaime Lannister, who now wielded the Valyrian greatsword Brightroar.  
Seeing them he yelled, "Boromir, Tyrion's gone mad!"

"Kill him! Jaime must die!" Tyrion screeched from atop the throne. At his command the remaining men all rushed forward at once trying to kill Jaime, but with a flurry of blocks he forced an opening and ran towards the assembled Gondorians.

With a cry Boromir led them forward to meet Jaime, Faramir felt himself join in as well. When they reached the Haradrim it was a slaughter, the men were armored lightly, if at all, and the sudden numbers of the Gondorians left them no chance to make any kind of stand.

Faramir looked to see Jaime had cut Cersei's bonds, "Kill the little Imp Jaime!" she screamed, "make him pay for this treachery!"

Jaime was mounting the stairs as if to do just that, _He doesn't know about the ring!_ Faramir thought suddenly, "Jaime don't! he's bewitched!" He shouted.

Jaime looked back at him, "what do you-" he was cut off by Tyrion, who had launched himself with a cry down the stairs at Jaime, a dagger in hand. He collided with Jaime's chest and the two brother's tumbled down the stairs. Faramir saw with a shock that Tyrion's dagger had pierced Jaime's shoulder. As the two rolled to a stop at the bottom of the throne Faramir could see Tyrion was on top, trying to force the dagger down into Jaime's throat while the older brother clasped his wrists trying desperately to stop him from doing so. "How is he so fucking strong?!" Jaime screamed.

Tyrion's eyes were wide with hate and a sick smile was on his face, "I've always been strong, you just never saw it."

Suddenly Bronn rushed forward from somewhere and with a kick sent Tyrion several feet away from Jaime. He drew a dagger that he kept in a sheathe on his back.

"Take the ring off or I'm cutting it off mate," the sellsword said. By now the men, including Crakehall and Shagga, had assembled in a loose ring, watching the spectacle and making sure the dwarf had no chance of escape. He looked around angrily like a trapped rat.

"I'd rather die!" he shouted as he rushed toward Bronn, dagger raised.

With a sigh Bronn stopped him with a blow to the face that broke the dwarf's nose, "Ser Jaime, help me pin him!" the two men rushed forward and pinned the stunned Tyrion to the ground.

Sensing what was to come next Faramir drew his own dagger and walked towards the screaming little man, who was now incoherent with rage. Reaching down to extend the finger in question he tried several times to pull the ring off. It wouldn't budge no matter how much force was applied. He sighed angrily and brought the dagger down severing the finger where it met the hand.

Tyrion screamed.


	30. XXX The Steward

**XXX**

 **The Steward**

Denethor flinched slightly at the dwarf's scream, though the men assembled around him were too numerous for him to see the deed done himself. He looked around the throne room in dismay, the white stone, which had seemed so pristine and polished when Jaime Lannister had first arrived, was now awash in blood, men of Gondor, Harad, and the Westerlands sprawled about like obscene decorations.

With a sad sigh he turned to the assembled men, "Let me through," they parted allowing him to the small man who was sobbing as the sellsword Bronn pressed a black rag onto his stump of a finger.

"Someone fetch the maester," Bronn said, "if putrefication sets in he'll lose the whole hand."

"No need," Faramir said, "I can treat this," he looked around and saw a torch that had been torn from one of the brazier's and was now laying on the floor. He picked it up and, producing two small pieces of flint, lit the oil soaked wood. He motioned for one of the men to hold the now burning torch and held his knife inside of the flames.

"Is he… is he going to be back to normal now?" Jaime asked.

"Time will tell," Denethor replied. He noticed the older Lannister brother had a nasty wound on his shoulder, "Get that cleaned and bandaged Ser Jaime, it would be a shame if infection finishes the job your brother started."

By now Faramir's knife was starting to glow red hot, the ranger pulled it out of the fire and walked over to the huddled Tyrion, "Get him something to bite down on."

Tyrion stopped his crying a moment to look at the approaching blade, "What are you-" his eyes went wide, "Oh gods no!" Without asking Bronn quickly jabbed a wad of cloth into the little man's mouth muffling his protests. Faramir pressed the hot blade against the bleeding stump of Tyrion's finger, his scream cut through the gag. After a moment the ranger pulled it away and began bandaging it.

"Remove the gag," Denethor commanded. Bronn did so and Tyrion coughed and then took a deep breath. "Tyrion Lannister," Denethor said, causing the little man to look at him, "How… How do you feel?"

"I've just had my finger cut off and my bastard brother is still alive, how do you think I feel?" Tyrion yelled in response.

"You're the bastard! You tried to kill us just like you killed our mother!" Cersei screeched, Denethor looked to the woman, her face was flushed with anger, "A finger? Cut off his head!"

"Lady Cersei please calm yourself," Denethor said loudly, "Your brother has been under the influence of fell magicks, he cannot be-"

"He's always hated us!" she spat, "He's a curse on this family and always has been."

"No he's not," Jaime said quietly looking at his feet, "Cersei please leave us, find Myrcella." She groaned angrily but stalked out of the room.

"Go with her," Denethor said to several of the assembled men, "there may yet be more assassins about." They nodded and followed her out of the room.

"Well if that's the end of the excitement I think I'm going to go find someplace to get drunk," Crakehall said. He looked to Jaime and the steward, "By my lord's leave of course."

Jaime just nodded and Denethor rolled his eyes, "You are released Ser Crakehall."

The knight smiled and looked to Shagga, "You coming you big oaf?"

Shagga stared sadly down at the ruins of his silk shirt, "Shagga spent all of his coin on this…"

In spite of everything Denethor swore he heard a small chuckle from Jaime, "Go to my chambers," Jaime said, "There's a bag of coins in the drawer on my nightstand, take a few and get out of here." Crakehall and Shagga grinned and left together, an argument starting about what tavern they were going to visit first.

"I'm going with them," Bronn announced, "you lot clearly have some issues to work out and I don't want any part of it." He sheathed his blade and turned to walk out, he paused and looked back at Tyrion, "When you've cleared your head a bit come and find me, I wouldn't mind working for you again if you need it."

Tyrion just glowered at him as he left, "So what now Jaime? Going take my head like our dear sister wants? You've already taken everything else from me."

In spite of the harsh words Denethor could feel nothing but normal anger in them, _perhaps the corruption is gone,_ "Boromir, Faramir, Jaime, _Tyrion,"_ He put emphasis on the last name to get the dwarf's attention, "Clean yourselves up and meet me in my chambers." He thought a moment, "Boromir go with Tyrion and make sure he doesn't make any more _mistakes_."

Boromir looked at Tyrion, who was now struggling to his feet, "Is that wise father? Perhaps he needs bedrest first."

"No," Denethor said, "There will be time to rest after we determine the extent of his sabotage here. Do as I ask Boromir." With that he turned and went to his chambers to wait for them. As soon as he reached them he poured himself a drink and downed it in one single gulp.

Jaime and Faramir arrived first, Jaime had a small bulge under his shirt that Denethor assumed was a newly packed bandage, then Boromir and Tyrion entered, with the dwarf looking sour. Without a word he poured himself a cup of wine fit for a man twice his size, and echoing Denethor's earlier gesture, downed it in a single gulp. Where the steward had stopped there however; Tyrion immediately poured himself a second.

"Lord Tyrion, you've lost a lot of blood, perhaps you shouldn't-" Faramir began, but was cut off by the dwarf.

"Faramir, I've had a little time to think, and I'm sorry for involving you and your nation in my… personal matters, but if you try and get between me and my drink right now I can't promise I'll sit here peaceably."

"I'm glad you feel that way," Denethor said tersely, "surely you must realize you were being used as a pawn?"

The dwarf shrugged, "Looking back many of my plans seem a little… too much." He pointed to Jaime, "Him though, he deserved death today," he said with a sneer.

"Whatever lies they told you in Minas Morgul were only to turn you against us and your family," Boromir said angrily, "Even after all of this your brother sits here speaking with you when by all rights-"

"He's right," Jaime said quietly, "I've wronged him."

Tyrion laughed, "Oh you've wronged me?" He shook his head angrily, "you make it sound like you borrowed something and didn't bring it back. Did you not tell your new friends about how you and father celebrated my wedding?"

Jaime looked up suddenly, "Tyrion please-"

The plea enraged the dwarf, "Oh you don't want to hear about it? Does it _embarrass_ you to have been a part of it?" He drained the second cup of wine before continuing, "When we were boys Jaime and I came across a lovely young girl named Tysha… I'll spare you the details but suffice to say we ended up married…"

"Tyrion stop this," Jaime was more insistent now.

"My father was most displeased that I had married a commoner, to express his disapproval he had her raped by his men in front of me…" Tears were flowing now, "Jaime there told me she had just been a simple whore, a girl hired to make me a man. She loved me Jaime!" he roared.

Denethor looked to his sons and saw they were as shocked as he was, he struggled to keep his face calm, "Lord Tyrion… I am sorry for this, but my duties as Steward compel me to ask what plans were set in motion other than your attempt on your brother's life. He shot Jaime a hateful stare, "Though frankly I now wonder if it wouldn't have been best to let you continue uninterrupted."

Tyrion wiped his nose with a sniff, "I... Understand. I killed the ravens."

Faramir nodded, "I'd guessed as much, what else?"

Tyrion's eye's widened suddenly, "Gods the letter!"

"What letter?" Boromir asked leaning forward.

"I sent my father a letter saying that you had murdered Jaime and were holding Cersei and I as your captives!"

Whatever sorrow was in Jaime's face was suddenly replaced by shock, "Tyrion… what have you done?" he whispered.

Denethor frowned, "Surely we can send a messenger and explain this situation to him?"

"No, you don't understand, when our father reads that letter he will amass his armies and he will send his dogs of war among your people," Jaime said, "Have you read of the Sack of King's landing? Clegane is dead but Amory Lorch still lives. What he does in his raids will be… monstrous."

"Why does your father keep such a man in his service?" Boromir asked horrified.

"To instill fear in his enemies and ensure the proper respect for House Lannister," Tyrion sneered.

"I've got to leave, he's got to know I'm alive!" Jaime said standing up.

"You will go tomorrow at first light," Denethor said firmly, "Ser Jaime the situation is urgent but if you leave now you'll collapse from exhaustion or rip that wound open again. You will cause us just as much trouble dead in a ditch outside Pelargir as you would with your "death" in that letter."

Jaime nodded, "I fear I must go prepare then…" He turned to Tyrion, "Tyrion I… I am truly sorry, I do not know if I can ever repay you but as your brother I beg you to forgive me."

"Oh fuck off Jaime," Tyrion replied, "and when you see father tell him to fuck off too." With a sigh Jaime left the room.

Tyrion turned back to them, "I believe that's the extent of what I had planned. Do you have any further need of me?"

"No," Denethor said rubbing his temples, "I hope Jaime can reach his father before anything… unfortunate happens." He brightened a little, "perhaps when Jaime has explained things to your father he will see the wisdom in allying with us against Mordor."

Tyrion shrugged, "I fear he's mostly going to want my head. He cares more for his family name than his family… You are right that he will want revenge at some point though." Tyrion shuddered, "He doesn't know what lies in those lands, there's no number of women and children he could have murdered that will make Sauron fear him."

Denethor stroked his chin, "If what you've told me is true Tywin Lannister sounds like a monster second only to Sauron himself… but not one who will take such insults lightly. Perhaps there is still hope."

Tyrion rolled his eyes, "I could care less, I only hope he dies on the battlefield trying to kill something that can't be killed." He stepped up with a stagger, "Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to go sleep…" he stumbled through the same door Jaime had left through.

"I'm going to set a pair of guards on his door," Boromir said, "Better to be on the safe side."

"I don't think it's necessary," Faramir replied, "That's a man who's dead inside and the enemy only loosed a trebuchet that was already there and loaded." He frowned, "What manner of monster does something like that to his son? His brother?"

Boromir shook his head, "I do not know brother, I… If Jaime didn't have to leave tomorrow I think I'd have harsh words with him."

"We still need them," Denethor said, "In spite of everything that's happened here… everything they've done, we need them." He stood up and walked to a window where he could look out over Pelennor fields. "Something brought them here, something beyond Sauron or any of his servants… and whoever did this, be they of the Valar or Eru Iluvitar himself, they did it for a purpose." He walked back to his sons, "I've read the history of the seven kingdoms… it might be best described as a clash of kings and a feast for crows at worst." He paused, "There were many there who might have been chosen, I've read that the Baratheons are strong… there was a man named Stannis Baratheon there, brother of their last king, who was said to possess an unbreakable will. Why not him?" He paused with a wry smile, "The Lannisters were sent to us for a reason, we can only have faith that they yet have some role to play in all of this."

He saw that his speech had lightened his son's moods, Faramir was smiling himself now and Boromir just nodded, "Father," Boromir started, "what of an alliance? We should move quickly to secure one. The Westerosi custom is with a marriage…"

Denethor made quick eye contact with Boromir, _He knows_ , he thought, "We will determine what will be done on that front when we are sure war has been averted." He smiled, "if my sons are perhaps too frightened of this challenge a mere engagement might be made with the princess Myrcella until she comes of age..."

Faramir grimaced, "Father perhaps you are right, let's wait to discuss this until we have word that we are not at war with the Westerlands."


	31. XXXI The Hound

**XXXI**

 **The Hound**

The trip to Michael Delving should have been pleasant, unlike Joffrey he had no objections to Smallburrow's slow rate of travel, and without the sorry little King he didn't have to try and remember the various details of the story they'd made up every time he talked to someone. Unfortunately word of things had spread and he found that the hobbits, previously warm to him, had cooled considerably as news of the attack on Lobelia and Lotho spread. Smallburrow at least seemed to warm back up to him over a few days, and if he now received sour looks from the little folk at least he still had Smallburrow to laugh at his off color jokes.

The Shirriff was laughing now as they approached the capital of the Shire, Michael Delving, "Oh that's quite the song Ser Clegane!" He chuckled, "I'd avoid singing about the Dornishman's wife in front of the mayor though, he's an older fellow, right proper and all that."

He found himself smiling a little, "I'm no fool Smallburrow… but I'm also no knight, you needn't call me ser."

Smallburrow shrugged, "You ride a horse, you're good with a sword, and in spite of that awful boy you came with you don't seem so bad a fellow to me. What more is there to a knight?" he grinned, "You've even travelled the Shire doing the noblest of deeds, helping good hobbits buy beer."

"Never took the oaths," he grunted, "Didn't see the point since you end up breaking them all anyway."

"And what oaths are those?" Smallburrow asked with a frown.  
"Well first you've got to be just and honorable…" he said stroking his chin, "Then there's one for each of the Seven, show the Father's wisdom, the Mother's mercy… I can't remember them all," he said dismissively, truthfully he knew them all by heart, but he didn't want to speak about it any further.

"Those all sound fine enough," The hobbit said, "which one do you think you wouldn't be able to follow?"

He sighed, if the little man wouldn't drop it then… "I've killed people who didn't deserve death Smallburrow, I've done any number of things that would make those oaths meaningless. Truthfully so have most of the men who take them… My brother-" he paused, seeing the hobbit's horrified face, he would spare him the details of Gregor's atrocities for now, "he has done many terrible things," he finished.

They rode on in silence for a time, entering the town proper now. The hobbits knew he was coming of course, and when he entered word spread quickly and the townspeople glared at him from shops. Some of the braver citizens stayed in the streets, crossing their arms and looking at him with disapproval, he returned their stares with a sneer of his own that at the very least made them flinch and fail to meet his eyes.

"You saved my life when we first met," Smallburrow said suddenly, "You didn't have to, you and Joffrey were hidden. You could've let those beasts butcher us…"

"His grace felt the need to shoot one with a crossbow," Clegane replied, "We had to fight for ourselves as much as for you."

"I don't care," Smallburrow declared, "I'd like to thank you for your good deed."

Clegane laughed, spooking several hobbits lining the road, "If it makes you feel better feel free, one "good deed" doesn't make me a knight in any case."

They came to the Town Hole after a time, it was a great burrow dug into the side of a hill, Sandor could see a number of skylights and chimney's poking through the top of it and guessed that, for a hobbit at least, the interior was quite expansive. They tied their mounts at a small stable near the entrance.

"Do you think your horse will be safe out here?" Smallburrow asked, looking around at the angry faces.

Clegane looked back at them and then to Stranger, who snorted angrily, "I think he'll be fine, gods help them if they untie him…"

They walked to the door, which was tall enough that Clegane only needed to lower his head to enter, and opened it with a creaking sound. The interior hall was arrayed in some miniature parody of a throne room, a small chair at the end was ornately carved and flanked by a pair of skylights that bathed it in the midday sun.

"Is that you Smallburrow? Come over here!" a voice called from one of the side chambers.

Smallburrow gestured for Clegane to follow him and walked into the room to the right of the small throne which appeared to be arranged as some sort of office space. It was immaculately clean, not a trace of dust on any of the shelves, and the various documents and maps that were framed on the walls stood behind shining glass. Sandor took the impression that very little real work got done here, behind the desk, a great oak thing that would've been the envy of Tywin Lannister, sat the fattest hobbit he'd yet seen.

"So this must be the knight Sandor Clegane," the large hobbit said, stroking one of his many chins, "Why have you brought him here Smallburrow?" He grimaced only momentarily at Sandor's burns, but then his face went blank.

The shirriff for his part glared at the mayor and then cleared his throat, "Ser Clegane if I may introduce the respected mayor of Michael Delving, Will Whitfoot." He took a seat in a small chair across from the mayor. Sandor took one look at the other little chair and pushed it aside with a sigh before sitting cross legged next to the Shirriff.

The mayor seemed flustered a minute, "Oh I am sorry ser Clegane, as he said I am the mayor, though my question still stands, from what I've heard you and your squire were some manner of outlaws from your home country?"

"Not exactly," Smallburrow cut in, "The boy King Joffrey was struck with some wanderlust and wished to travel the world or so I heard, he collects rings or some such nonsense and wished to see what was here" he looked to Clegane for confirmation.

"Something like that yes," Clegane said, whatever ring the boy had been after he had no interest in it, nor in some feud with the Baggins family.  
The mayor nodded, "So the authorities from your land came for him and you were so enraptured by our fair Shire that you wanted to stay rather than return home?"

Clegane thought a moment, the Shire was perhaps the most pleasant place he'd ever been, even Winterfell in the North didn't have so comfortable and happy a people, "The Shire has good food and good drink, what more could a man want?" _Gregor's head on a pike_ , he thought to himself.

The mayor smiled, "Indeed! It is nice to see a man recognize this, the rangers sometimes come to see me and they always complain that our food is too rich, our drink too strong." He laughed, "Have you had a second breakfast yet? _That_ is a true Shire tradition!"

Sandor almost laughed but then he realized the mayor was serious, "Er… No, I'm afraid that I haven't had one yet, Shirriff Smallburrow and I have been traveling you see-"

"Oh you must have one with me tomorrow, I think I shall make a peach crumble and some tea!"

 _Do these hobbits think of anything but food?_ He thought to himself, "I'll consider it, but it depends on your answer to the question of whether I can stay or not."

Smallburrow nodded, "We've come because Ser Clegane wishes to stay here in the Shire, I thought it best that you make the final pronouncement."

"A man in the Shire?" The mayor asked incredulously, "Why there hasn't been one since the days of the Thains…" He thought a moment, "Also there's the matter of this assault on the Sackville-Bagginses, I've heard it was this boy Joffrey, but he traveled here with you, and you must answer for this."

"The knight from the Westerlands, Daven Lannister, has already paid reparations to the Shire and to the Sackville Bagginses," Smallburrow said quickly, he put the small coinpurse on the mayor's desk, "It's all there… minus travel expenses of course."

The mayor gave a knowing smile, "Of course, I'm sure the Green Dragon could confirm these expenditures." He hefted the purse and then opened the drawstring, his eyebrows going up slightly when he saw that it was gold in the bag. "Well… in light of this I don't see why we shouldn't allow Ser Clegane to stay for a time." He paused a moment before putting the coin purse in one of the many desk drawers, which he then locked with a small key he produced from his pocket.

"Now then," he said, "Of that other business, the rangers wanted us to provide them some food and other provisions? You met with them Smallburrow, what is your decision?"

The Shirriff shuddered at the memory, "We should give it to them, there are orcs near the shire, I don't know how many, only that the rangers speak truth regarding their presence."

The mayor looked to Sandor, "Have you seen these orcs yourself?"

He nodded, "I have, even killed a few when I first met the Shirriff there."

The mayor was shocked, "Is this true?"

Smallburrow nodded, "Yes, several of the beasts fell upon myself and the rangers. Ser Clegane and King Joffrey, drove them off."

The mayor sighed, "What a strange time… I suppose I must make arrangements to provide them with supplies." He brightened, "Though I suppose the gold the Lannisters gave us will serve this purpose for a time."

"You'll need to tell the rest of the shirriffs," Smallburrow said, "If there's orcs about they might find a way past the rangers, we must not to let them take the lads by surprise."

"Best to make them start carrying swords too," Clegane cut in, "Your boys won't be able to do much but tell you about it if worse comes to worst."

"Swords?" the mayor said with a laugh, "Why the Shiriff's haven't needed swords since the Bullroarer's day, we're sending food to the rangers, surely that will allow them to spend more time patrolling-"

"In my experience there's no situation where a man with a sword would be better off without one," Clegane said.

Whitfoot shifted uncomfortably, "Old Bilbo was the only hobbit who had any idea how to use a sword, and he's long gone…"

"If you're that worried about it I can give the Shirriffs a few pointers," he said, patting his own sword pommel, "I'd give some references but I'm afraid most of the men who know my skill with a blade are dead," he grinned and the mayor was taken aback momentarily.

"Well I don't know if that's going to be necessary… Perhaps this Lithe day feast we will have a vote on it when all the Shiriffs are there," the mayor said.

Clegane scowled, "when it comes to learning the sword sooner is better than later Mayor Whitfoot, when is this Lithe day feast?"

"Well the next one is in June, though in leap years we celebrate an Overlithe-"

 _"June?!"_ Clegane exclaimed, "By then an army could march here from any corner of the world!" He paused collecting himself, "Mayor Whitfoot, I have seen some dark things… I wouldn't wish them on the Shire. Those rangers are good men, but how many of them are there?"

"I think we should listen to him," Smallburrow said, "He's fought in wars you know, thousands of men on each side."

The mayor raised an eyebrow, "Quite taken with our foreign knight aren't we Shiriff Smallburrow?"

Smallburrow shrugged, "He's bought me drinks from here to Sarn Ford, I think I've gotten to know him fairly well."

 _No you haven't,_ Clegane thought, _Else you'd tell him to run me out like a rabid dog_ , "I could teach Smallburrow the sword," he said suddenly, "If he takes to it perhaps he could speak with the rest of your men- er… hobbits, about it."

The mayor shrugged, "I suppose that's a fair compromise, Smallburrow do you agree to this?"

The fat hobbit looked to the mayor and then to Clegane, "Why of course, but I don't own a sword, where could I find one?

"Take one from the Mathom-House," The mayor said dismissively, "Heaven knows there's plenty there that aren't seeing any use." He thought a moment, "Ser Clegane, I suppose if you are to travel with Shirriff Smallburrow in his duties I should appoint you as a Shirriff also. Would you accept this station?"

He thought it over, "What duties does it carry?"

Whitfoot and Smallburrow laughed, "Duties?" the fat mayor wheezed, "Go around and help anyone that asks with whatever problems they've got, is that so complicated?"

Clegane felt himself grinning a bit, _if only everything was so simple_ , "I suppose I could do that, what do we need to do to make it happen?"

The mayor opened another drawer and withdrew a red feather, "Here take this and stick it in your… do you have a hat?" He asked suddenly.

"Well I've got a helm," Sandor replied.

The mayor shook his head, "No, that won't do, go and get yourself a proper cap at Ron John's Leatherworking over on George Martin street, tell them I sent you."

He took the feather, "So I just I stick this in my cap and everyone knows I'm a Shirriff?"

"Precisely!" The mayor said, beaming, "A big man such as yourself ought to do a lot of good around here… I've heard some ne'er do wells have been stealing farmer Maggot's carrots! I'll bet they'll think twice if you walk by with one of these in your hat!"

Clegane gave a polite chuckle, "I'm sure they would," _poor bastards better not cross me_ , he thought.

"Well that's all settled then," the mayor said, "Go and do your duties Shirriffs!"

Robin Smallburrow grinned and Clegane, feeling like he should at least pretend to be grateful, grinned with him.

The pair left the Town Hole and walked towards the Mathom-House, "So what kind of sword should I pick?" Smallburrow said excitedly, "the Bullroarer used a great two handed club, perhaps a two handed sword?"

Sandor snorted, "Mate, you're small, it's in your name for gods' sake, pick a small blade and carry a shield with it."

He waved at Clegane dismissively, "Oh why shouldn't I take a great two handed sword? I'll name it Orcsbane!"

Clegane pulled his own sword slightly out of the scabbard, "A "greatsword" like this you mean?" He chuckled, "Of course you'd name it…"

Smallburrow seemed offended, "lots of people name their swords…"

"Lots of cunts," Sandor replied. "A blade's not your friend, it's a tool no different from a hammer you use for a nail or a cup you use to get drunk." He grinned, his scarred face cracking a bit, "You name your cup Robin?"

The hobbit looked down, "No…" he muttered. "I suppose you know best," he said with a sigh, "still I wish you could've waited a bit before taking all the fun out of it…"

"Fun?" he chuckled, "there's no fun, you're training to kill someone, never forget that. The only people who have fun doing that aren't the types you want to have a drink with."

They arrived at the Mathom-House, another building with a great door requiring only a slight stoop to enter, and began looking at the assembled items.

"Can I help you?" the small man, who Sandor guessed was the curator, asked.

"Oh Yes!" Smallburrow said excitedly, "Where are the weapons? The Mayor himself has given me permission to take one!"

The curator sniffed derisively but didn't challenge the claim, "They're over there in the left hallway," he pulled a key from his pocket and handed it to Smallburrow, "remember to lock it after you make your selection."

The two of them walked through the great hall which contained a number of weapons behind glass cases, "I wish Bilbo hadn't taken Sting," Robin said mournfully, pointing towards one empty case, "I'd have liked to take that one most of all…"

Clegane rolled his eyes, "What did I say about naming swords?" He looked at the assembled blades, most were rusted and useless, if there were few weapons in the Shire there were probably even less smiths qualified to restore them. He saw one that looked long enough to be a sword for a man, and perhaps a bastard sword for a hobbit, "There, take that one out," he said.

Smallburrow obeyed and opened the glass case, "It seems… right," he said hefting the sword in his hands, "It was probably used in the goblin invasion… maybe Elven forged." He paused a moment, " _Drink_ , I'll name it Drink!"

Sandor laughed, "Well if you _must_ name your blade I suppose Drink is as good a name as any, drink has brought me much pleasure in life and perhaps Drink will do the same for you."

The hobbit grabbed the scabbard for the sword from the display and sheathed it in a dramatic fashion, "I name you _Drink_ , slay my foe and I shall treat thee well!" he said ominously.

Clegane laughed so hard he feared he might fall to his knees, a moment later he did, "Mate…" He wheezed, "It's just edged metal, it can't hear you!" he continued laughing for a few minutes until the joke had passed.

The hobbit did not seem amused, "Ser Clegane, you have seen war, I will not dispute this, but this is a sword that deserves respect, and I shall give it no less."

Clegane stood to his full height and shrugged, "I suppose I'm bound to teach you swordplay if you carry a wooden club or Brightroar itself, _Drink_ it is then. Come, we should get on our way. We still have much to do as Shirriffs."

The two of them left the Mathom-Hall, Smallburrow insisted on staying in Michael Delving for the night and Sandor didn't offer any argument. He spent the evening instructing his fellow shirriff in the basics of swordplay, teaching simple blocks, falls, and strikes. When the sun fell low they retired to a tavern and Smallburrow offered to buy the first round.

 _This isn't too bad,_ Sandor thought, _I'd need to buy a bigger house than this lot, but I could live here._


	32. XXXII The Beggar King

**XXXII**

 **The Beggar King**

 ****Joffrey struggled in vain against his bonds, they were tied tight and Daven personally checked them each night before setting a watch on him. They'd travelled out of the Shire without incident, Joffrey had yelled to any they passed that there were great rewards for any who would free him, but most of the hobbits and the few rangers they encountered just stared at him quizzically, and after a few of these attempts Daven had just ordered him gagged again.

They'd marched south through Enedwaith until the North-South road approached the foothills of the Misty Mountains, the great clouds circling the peaks in the distance were the type of thing a weakling like Tommen would want to gasp at and stare for hours, to Joffrey they were just big rocks.

"Strange to be in springtime again so soon," His uncle remarked, Joffrey just stared at him angrily. Daven grinned, "Nothing to say your grace? Perhaps the air out here is doing you some good."

One of the men rode up to him, "Sir, when do we leave the road?"

Daven looked at the mountains and then withdrew a small map, "I suppose we should head south either tomorrow or the day after that, any further and whatever time we save from the use of a road will be lost by going too far East…" He pointed to a place where the mountains ended for a stretch, it was marked Fords of Isen, "If we get there we'll know we've gone too far." The sun was starting to set now and Daven sighed, "I suppose we'd best find a campsite and a tree to tie his disgrace to."

Joffrey tried to respond but all that came through the gag was an angry mumble.

Daven laughed, "Good to see the king agrees."

"I don't know if we should stop here Ser Daven… something's got the horses on edge," the other guard said.

Daven shrugged, "Wolves about perhaps, if they're foolish enough to trouble us I suppose we could use the extra meat." Joffrey looked at him with disgust and the knight rolled his eyes, "We've eaten far worse coming after you, a bit of salt and dog tastes just like mutton."

They tied the horses up and with a laugh one of the men tied him to a tree, "Now if you're able to shut the hell up tonight we won't need to put this back in," the man said as he pulled the wadded cloth out of the king's mouth.

"You'll all pay for this!" He coughed, "You'll _wish_ you had a king like Aerys who's content with burning you!" The man just laughed and walked off.  
He sulked under the tree until the fire went low and the men fell asleep, two of them were sitting on watch playing some manner of dice game.

"Hey!" he whispered, trying to get their attention.

They stopped what they were doing and giving each other an amused look walked over to the tree where he was tied, "What do you want?" one of them asked.

"If you two let me free I can promise you anything you want, land, women, gold, all of it!"

The second man chuckled, "Your grace your grandfather can give us all that and we've all but completed the task he's set before us, just enjoy the rest of the trip home."

"I was on a quest you fools!" he sneered, "I would have ruled this whole world!"

The men each gave a low laugh until suddenly one fell forward, a crusted black arrow blossoming out of the back of his head.

"We're under attack!" The other man screamed drawing his sword before dozens more small arrows struck him down. Joffrey could see them now, dozens, perhaps a hundred, small green creatures no taller than he was who moved with a scurry closer to a rat than a man.

Daven emerged from his tent with a yell, sword in hand, "Form ranks! Form ranks! To me!" He held his sword high and brought it down quickly as one of the creatures ran through the men to him, failing to touch the young lion. As the men formed up he ran towards Joffrey and with a single swipe of his sword cut through the king's rope. He held up his hands and with a reluctant sigh Daven cut through the remaining bonds, "Follow me and don't go-"

Not bothering to listen Joffrey ran off into the darkness, "Too slow uncle!" he yelled jubilantly as he ran into the darkness.

"GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE SHIT!" Daven's voice echoed behind him.

He laughed to himself, _Fool, I'm far too smart to-_ , his thought was interrupted by a tree that seemed to appear from nowhere, knocking him out cold.

He came to with a groan some time later, a number of toothy grins looked down at him from green faces, "The little one's awake!" one said with glee.

 _Orcs,_ he thought, _like the ones at the ford,_ "I'm a king!" he blurted out suddenly, "I've got gold!"

A sound of excitement went up amongst them and a dozen small greedy hands suddenly frisked him all over, "Stop! Stop it!" he screeched. The orcs found nothing and they all began chattering angrily.

The largest one hefted a mace over it's shoulder, "Where's the gold you little squealer? You can tell me now or I can beat it out of ya."

Joffrey sighed, _dumb as a Northman_ , "Look I don't have it with me!" one of the orcs rushed forward and beat him with a wooden stick.

"No gold!" it cried and the others took up the chant, "No gold! No gold!"

He thought quickly, "Possession is sometimes an abstract concept!" he yelled. "Someone else has it but it's still mine!"

The big orc rubbed his chin, "I am Narg little King,"

"Narg smart!" one of the creatures said suddenly, and again the chant went up amongst them, "Narg smart! Narg smart!"

Narg smacked the nearest orc hard, "QUIET!" he bellowed. He turned back to Joffrey, "I know sometimes men will pay a ransom for the return of someone important… you say you're a king? A king of whom? Not the horselords, nor the Dunedain…"

"The Westerlands!" he said, "I'm king of the Westerlands! I was on… personal business when my fool grandfather sent those idiots after me!"

Narg grinned, "I have heard of these Westerlands, word spreads even into the Misty Mountains of the Arrival." He thought a moment, "If you are a king they would pay greatly for your return…" He looked at Joffrey and licked his lips, "If not… Well I have never eaten manflesh, seems distasteful to me to eat something that talks, but my orcs insist they can make it taste quite delectable."

 _He means to eat me!?_ He thought indignantly, "I need swords," he said suddenly, "Whatever ransom those fools pay for me is a pittance compared to what I would grant you if you would enter my service." He stood up, _Remember, you are the son of Robert Baratheon, make foes into friends,_ "My kingdom is wealthy in many ways, gold and silver of course, but also in food and drink, in beautiful women, in learned men!"

The orcs seemed to be paying attention now, chattering quietly amongst themselves, "What are you suggesting?" Narg asked.

"My grandfather and his men refuse to obey me," He said, "I need loyal servants who will force them back into line!" He gestured widely, "You defeated some of his finest men, you would be able to put me back on my throne and slay those fools who would oppose me!"

Narg nodded with approval and a cheer went up, "And I suppose you'd pay us as well?" The goblin asked.

Joffrey grinned, "Whatever you want would be yours!"

While the smaller goblins were dancing around in excitement Narg was silent, finally he spoke, "Little king?" he asked suddenly

"You can call me King Joffrey or just Your Grace," he said with a smile.

"How many men does your grandfather command?" Narg asked.

Joffrey's smile faltered, "He could perhaps raise fifty thousand, though a number will join me if I declare my authority against him."

Narg nodded, "I'd feared as much, this is a matter that requires the word of the Great Goblin… he can raise an army equal to that, perhaps more. But we need more proof you are really the King Joffrey of the Westerlands."

Joffrey's back straightened and his eyes grew cold, "I am Joffrey Baratheon, son of Robert Baratheon, king of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms." He could tell from the cheer the goblins were convinced, Narg was still uncertain.

"Is there any who would validate this claim?" Narg asked

Joffrey thought a moment, "The Wizard!" He said suddenly, "The Wizard Saruman! He will tell you I am the King!"

Narg nodded, "Saruman of Many Colors has joined with us… Will you go with us to the Great Goblin? He is in contact with the Wizard."

Joffrey nodded and smiled, "I would gladly meet with this Great Goblin!"

And so he joined with a new party. They'd taken Daven and his men by surprise and captured a number of horses and his own sword and crossbow. He'd been quite pleased to take them back and one night he'd shot a raccoon which fed himself and Narg for a few days. They told him his uncle had fled with a few other men, but he just laughed, they'd never take him now. Though the scouts reported the men followed perhaps a day's travel behind them he didn't worry. As they entered the mountains proper there were reports that the men had broken off the pursuit. Joffrey only laughed at his uncle's cowardice.

Finally they came to a great cave, "This leads to Goblin Town," Narg said, "Men do not go there, stay close to me else you might end up in a cookpot."

Joffrey sniffed dismissively, "Noted, though any fool that troubles me will soon regret it."

They soon walked through a great hive like structure where dozens of eyes looked out at him. Torches lit the way, though to his eyes the light was still far too low. A number of wooden ganglpanks formed some sort of path, and he could see Narg shoving a number of smaller orcs out of the way.  
Finally they came to a great lit chamber that Joffrey guessed was something similar to a throne room. A great mass of pink fat and warts sat in a great throne of bones that reminded him of the Iron Throne back in King's Landing. A sick music played as they approached,

 _Swish, smack! Whip crack!_  
 _Smash, grab! Pinch, nab!_  
 _You go, my lad!_  
 _Ho, ho! my lad!_

 _The black crack! the back crack!_  
 _The black crack! the back crack!_  
 _Down down to Goblin-town_  
 _Down down to Goblin-town_  
 _Down down to Goblin-town_  
 _You go, my lad!_  
 _Ho, ho! my lad!_

"So! You are King Joffrey Baratheon!" The great fatty mass said, "I am Barg, Son of Bolg, Son of Azog, the Great Goblin!"

"Well met Great Goblin!" Joffrey said with a smile, _Just play along, when they aren't needed anymore the knights can slaughter them_ , he thought. "I am King Joffrey Baratheon of the Seven Kingdoms, the true ruler and King of the Westerlands!"

The Great Goblin nodded, "Saruman has sent word that your identity is valid, we are to send you to him at once… can you offer any reason why we should not?"

Joffrey frowned, _The Wizard seeks to slow my progress too…_ He put it out of his mind and gave a bright smile, "Is wealth and plunder enough of a reason?"

The Great Goblin returned the grin, "Wealth and plunder is a good reason for any undertaking… how can you deliver such?"

Joffrey drew his sword and held it high, "I am the KING!" He shouted, "The Westerlands are full of gold hoarded by my miser of a grandfather, I would share it with any who would help me throw him off my throne!" the goblins cheered loudly.

The Great Goblin gave a small smile, "You have captured the hearts of my subjects King Joffrey, but men are great warriors, how can we overcome your grandfather?"

"Men will join me!" Joffrey cried, "Many chafe under my grandfather's rule and they would join us if you would call your soldiers!"

The lord of the Misty Mountains stroked the large chunk of fat resembling a beard on his chin, "I suppose an army of goblins could march in the shade of the Misty Mountains… would the Wizard allow us past the Gap of Rohan?"

"He serves me!" Joffrey declared loudly, "If he will not we will raise his fortress like the warriors we are!" At this a great cheer went up from the assembled goblins.

"Joffrey! Joffrey!" the goblins cried

The Great Goblin looked about the room and nodded, "Very well, if we can pass the Gap of Rohan I see no reason why we could not march on the Westerlands…" He pulled a great knife from his belt that could've been a bastard sword for a hobbit or a longsword for a man. He cut his hand, drawing a thick black blood. "Will you agree to a blood oath Joffrey Baratheon? That we shall be your allies and receive rewards for putting you on your rightful throne?"

Joffrey grinned and drew his own sword, "Gladly your Greatness!" he winced as he cut his own hand, the red blood flowing like water. He walked to the Great Goblin and clasped his hand, "I swear that you shall receive your just reward on behalf of all goblins!"

The goblin returned the handshake, their blood pooling beneath the joined limbs, "Very well, then I name thee Joffrey Baratheon, Goblin-Friend and man of the Misty Mountains!"

"But your greatness what of the eye?" one of the smaller orcs at his side said.

Barg son of Bolg knocked him aside with a great backhand, "Bugger the eye!" he shouted, "We've befriended a _king!_ " He grinned, "They say your kingdom is mountainous… may goblins dwell there?"

"I don't see why not!" Joffrey replied, "So long as they acknowledge my rule any may dwell in the Westerlands and mine their gold and silver."

"It is agreed then! Send for my vassals, gather all goblins beneath my banner!" he commanded. Many of the smaller orcs scrambled at his command. He looked back to Joffrey, "It will take some time to bring all of my armies to bear, how should we contact the men loyal to you?"

"The Wizard will know ways," Joffrey said confidently, "if not I can order them to my side when we arrive. In any case you shall be rewarded greatly for helping me in this most desperate hour." He beamed, "The minstrels will long sing of Joffrey Baratheon, the Goblin Friend!"


	33. XXXIII Saruman of Many Colors

**XXXIII**

 **Saruman of Many Colors**

After several weeks of experimentation he had, with Maester Qyburn's help of course, produced several new breeds of orc. He had assembled around a dozen of them in the field outside Orthanc, he hoped to have them remain outdoors for the entire day to determine which ones were the most resistant to sunlight. Walking down the steps in front of the tower he saw that Qyburn was waiting for him there, looking from orc to orc and questioning them.

"Ah Maester of Orthanc, I see you have already begun without me," he said pleasantly.

The maester turned and smiled on seeing him, "it seems none of this lot are burned by the sun, perhaps we've finally hit the right admixture."

Saruman looked at the orcs who growled and snarled at one another, true to the Maester's words none of them seemed in discomfort or pain.  
"What of obedience? Did they give you any trouble when you started questioning them?"

Qyburn shrugged, "No more than any other fighting man did, and they're quite a bit more respectful than the last group I traveled with."

 _Good,_ he thought to himself, _some of the strains of Moria orcs are entirely too independent for my tastes_. He stopped a moment and saw a mangled pile of bodies perhaps a few dozen feet from the base of the tower. They appeared to be smaller orcs that had what looked like…

"Are those _wings_ on their backs Maester Qyburn?" he asked with astonishment.

Qyburn scratched the back of his head and seemed embarrassed, "Well they are, but they don't seem to work very well." As if to drive his point home one of the batlike appendages in the pile twitched. "I read in one of the books in your library that a bird throws it's young from the nest to force them to learn flight… I'd hoped it would work with them so I took them up to the top of the tower and well..." He gestured to the mangled bodies on the ground, "it still didn't take."

"Evidently not," Saruman said, slightly amused, "The wings are of… inspired construction, how was it done?"

Qyburn shrugged, "I simply tried to replicate the shape and function of a bat's wings using the bones and skin of an orc."

Saruman nodded, "We will revisit this another time, for now let us examine the Uruks." He tapped his staff loudly against the stone pathway and the orcs jumped to attention and began forming ranks. The maester followed behind him as he walked through. One specimen in particular caught his attention, it had long wiry arms that hung below it's knees, and long claws resembling a bear's on it's fingertips.

"Those arms will leave it exposed…" The wizard said, "and the claws are frightening but Uruks will use swords and pikes." The creature growled lowly but silenced when he looked it in the eyes.

Qyburn scratched his chin, "Perhaps it could be useful for another purpose?" He pointed to the stone ring that surrounded the field around the tower, "Orc!" it jumped to attention with a snarl, "scale that wall." With a ferocious roar it ran and then dropped to all fours, it's long arms giving it a disjointed gallop. Faster than Saruman thought possible the creature reached the wall and with a great leap began climbing up the side.

He smiled, "I think you're right, we might have to make more of those..."

They examined a few more Uruks, some too wide, some too short, until finally they came to a specimen that was as tall as the Wizard was, with thick muscular arms and large wolfen teeth. He looked it in the eyes and it began a low growl, there was a hate there… a hate that would consume the world of men.

"This one!" he said, "You will be the first of a new race of orcs, the finest this world has ever known!" The Uruk smiled and roared loudly at the sky like a great lion, smaller roars rose up from the other orcs and he turned to Qyburn, "We will begin digging the breeding pits tonight… you had best get some rest Maester, there will be much to do."

The maester nodded, "I'm afraid I'm not quite so good with steel and stone as I am with flesh and bone, but I shall be at your side regardless."

As soon as the sun dipped over the horizon the orcs spilled out of Orthanc, picks and shovels in hand. A number of them moved to begin work on damming the river while others dug into the exposed fields with wild abandon. Excited chattering and squawks echoed across the field as great bonfires were built to provide light.

He walked to a group of orcs who were busy felling trees under Qyburn's supervision, "These are old trees," the Maester said, "their roots go deep."

"Ours will go deeper," the Wizard said, the firelight flickered over his face giving him a mad look, "into the bowels of the earth itself." He paused a moment looking over the old trees one last time, "Rip them all down!"

A few hours later a small orc approached him, "My lord we have received a messenger from Goblin Town," he rasped, "They say one of their raids has captured someone claiming to be King Joffrey of the Westerlands."

Saruman stroked his beard, _Joffrey… I will need to question that little fool._ He looked back to the orc, "Tell their messenger that I know King Joffrey to have been in that area and it is likely their prisoner is genuine. Have him brought to me at the first opportunity, I will reward the goblins greatly for his safe delivery."

He and Qyburn worked from dusk until dawn as days became weeks. While he needed little sleep the Maester crashed into slumber each day as the sun rose, for all his knowledge he was still only a man after all. Finally after a fortnight of work the first breeding pits were prepared, his chosen specimen was seeded into the earth and with the proper incantations and spells he began the process of building his army. One would become ten, ten would become one hundred, one hundred would become thousands…

One night as he was overseeing the building of a series of forges a frantic goblin approached him, "My lord a force approaches from the North!"

"The North?" He said in shock, _If the elves or the Dunedain come in force now…  
_  
"Goblins my lord, at least a thousand," the orc said.

His brow furrowed, "Goblins? I didn't send for any-" he stopped, suddenly remembering Joffrey, "Surely that many aren't needed to hold the boy king?" He boarded the elevator to the surface and began walking briskly towards the gates of the stone ring. Sure enough he could see a movement on the horizon, lit by a few torches the group carried. After some time the horde came within speaking distance of the wall. "Who commands this rabble?" He called down to them.

One of them rode forth atop a great black warg, he was big for a goblin and clad in jagged black armor topped by a cruel looking helmet that hid his face. With a flourish he tore it off revealing curled blonde hair and bright green eyes.

For the first time in perhaps a thousand years the Wizard was truly shocked, " _Joffrey Baratheon?"_ he asked incredulously. Suddenly he recognized the crossbow slung across the boy's back and the castle forged steel sword at his waist.

" _King Joffrey!"_ the orcs chattered behind him, one got too close and the young prince backhanded it hard with a snarl, "Shut it you little imp!" he looked back to the wizard and smiled, "Wizard, we must speak, allow me in at once!"

He gestured for his orcs to begin opening the gate as Joffrey approached and walked down to meet the boy king.

As Joffrey entered Isengard he dismounted from his wolf and took the creature's reigns in hand, "I must say I enjoy riding these wargs," he said, "They only eat live meat you know, I might have to borrow a few of Tommen's cats when I get back to the Rock."

"The ring," the Wizard asked quietly, "Did you find news of the ring in the Shire?"

Joffrey waved dismissively, "it is there and will likely remain until I return to claim it, once I have it we will march down to remove my treasonous-"

"Where is the Ring?" He asked, his voice suddenly dripping with power.

"It's with Bagginses or the Sackville-Bagginses," he said suddenly taking the request seriously, "they're stupid fat little creatures who have no idea what they've got."

Saruman nodded, "Who defends them?"

"Rangers," Joffrey replied, "Perhaps a hundred of them, not enough to stop me."

 _Dunedain,_ he thought derisively, _perhaps the first batch of Uruks will be put to use against them instead of the horselords._

He thought suddenly of the goblins, "Have you told the goblins of the ring?" he asked.

Joffrey shook his head and Saruman sighed with relief, "They believe I seek a family heirloom stolen by the halflings, I see no reason to say more."

"What will you do now Joffrey Baratheon?" He continued to allow his voice to hold his power, he didn't need any more surprises out of the boy.

"I have made common cause with the Great Goblin," the king said proudly, "He will allow me the use of his armies to take not only my "stolen heirloom" but to throw the traitors out of my kingdom!" He thought a moment, as if remembering why he'd come, "We will need to march through your lands, the goblins will not do so unless you give your word we are permitted to."

 _I will need to keep this fool away from the Shire,_ "I will give you this boon if you retake your kingdom first," he said _By the time the boy and his grandfather kill each other I'll have had an opportunity to take the ring myself._ "Your people suffer without their King, and worse still during my travels there I heard many laugh at you, calling you feeble and weak."

" _Feeble?!"_ Joffrey spat angrily, " _Weak?_ Your counsel is wise as ever Wizard, the traitors at home must be dealt with first…" He paused to collect himself, "It will be some time before the Great Goblin's armies are amassed, I am ordering you to prepare provisions for us in that time to help carry the army past the Gap of Rohan."

 _Orders? You'll make a fine jester for me if you survive this war Joffrey,_ The wizard thought, "Your grace this can of course be done… but as you can see I am working on many projects of my own," he gestured to the smoking pits that dotted the fields of Isengard, "If your grace would order your followers to help with certain… construction, I would be more able to prepare what you need."

Joffrey nodded, and this time there was no compulsion needed to force cooperation, "That seems reasonable," he looked back through the gate and saw his orcs milling about, "Dogs!" He yelled catching their attention, "There's work to be done!" A great moan of dissatisfaction went up among the rabble but Joffrey just grabbed a whip strapped to the warg's saddle and cracked it loudly, "Get moving! Remember where there's a whip" he cracked it again for emphasis, "There's a way!"

Saruman smiled to himself watching the orcs march by. A thousand extra laborers would help speed things along, and he was already thinking of ways to turn the situation to his advantage. He would need to contact Grima to make sure the Rohirrim did not interrupt the boy's march on the Westerlands. Whether Joffrey won or lost would be immaterial, the realm would be weakened and that wall they were building would be torn down before it could be completed.

His thoughts turned next to the Shire, _The boy seems to have seen it…_ he thought, _I will send the first ready group of Uruks to search for it._ He smiled at the thought, used to wolves and goblins at the worst the Dunedain would be completely unprepared for the creatures he would send. His spies reported that Gandalf was heading South from Mirkwood towards Gondor, he would be too far away to help the Hobbits until it was too late.

 **A/N:** I suppose I should respond to a few reviews since we're getting pretty far into this thing, I want to assure you guys I'm reading them all. Obviously there's spoilers for the story up until this point so if you're the type of person to skip ahead and read the last chapter you might want to stop here.

Weylandcorp4 - Gregor died because he was fighting three skilled warriors and Boromir is part Numenorean and therefore strong enough to drive a sword through his steel

Hotrod 333 - These are Misty Mountain orcs, that includes both the ones from The Hobbit and the Moria orcs, though the Moria orcs are nominally independent of Goblin town and probably won't answer the Great Goblin's call.

Cyricist001 - Apparently Hobbits have an uncanny ability with projectiles, even just thrown stones and shortbows are able to bring down orcs in the books with ease. You're right that the hobbits would probably benefit more from spears and guerrilla warfare but there's quite a few swords floating around the Shire and few spears. They've also got more strength than a being their size rightly ought to so a sword isn't as bad of an idea as it might first appear.

Lukas0908 - Tywin doesn't strike me as the type to bother with taking Enedwaith unless it's got cities and farms already built, Umbar would be a nice prize if it could be held but given the way wars are fought in ASOIAF he'd probably put the city to the torch in a misguided attempt to intimidate Sauron.


	34. XXXIV The Horselord

**XXXIV  
The Horselord  
**

Eomer had been impressed with Lannisport and even more so with the Rock, though he had in his youth visited Gondor Minas Tirith never bustled with the same hum of activity Lannisport did. He had come with a party of ten men to meet the rulers of these new lands on Grima's orders, he had thought little of the mission itself, a mere greeting and then a return, until he had spoken with Tywin and Kevan Lannister. Their proposal of some manner of marriage alliance struck him as… odd, but he had heard that among the Dunlendings such customs were common during clan feuds.

The first thing he did when he woke up was ring the small servants bell at the top of his door and send for some water, he had slight headache no doubt from the wine the night before. He felt odd asking someone else to do so simple a task but the quartermaster had insisted that anything they desired would be brought. He sat rubbing his temples for a moment before noticing there was a book on his nightstand.

 _Odd_ , he thought to himself, _I don't remember this being here yesterday…_ he picked it up and read the title, "A Storm of Swords: An Account of Robert's Rebellion" he muttered to himself. He could see that someone had left a bookmark about a quarter of the way through. _It must belong to one of the servants,_ he thought absently. He opened the book to the page marked.

"House Tully," he mumbled as he read. _House Tully was convinced to join the war against King Aerys by the betrothal of Lord Eddard Stark to Catelyn Tully_. _With this alliance and the addition of the Tully's forces the rebellion could now stand against the loyalists on equal footing…_ He closed the book, he was beginning to think it was no accident that this particular volume marked to this particular chapter had been left in his chambers.

The servant returned with water and he downed it with a sigh, he decided he would speak with Lord Tywin again. He suspected that Theodred would support a regency and with Lannister soldiers to guard the borders the whole process could be carried out fairly painlessly if Grima were caught early. _That only leaves the question of who's marrying whom_ he thought to himself.

He walked to the main throne room noticing a flurry of activity, men were running in every direction and he could hear shouting from inside the chamber as he entered.

"Tywin we don't know that this letter is genuine-" Kevan Lannister pleaeded

"It was in Tyrion's hand!" The Old Lion shouted. Unlike at their previous meeting today Tywin Lannister was disheveled, he wore the same clothes as the night before and he had a beard growth that indicated he hadn't had time to shave that morning. His eyes were bloodshot, from lack of sleep or anger Eomer couldn't determine, but it was probably some combination of the two.

"Brother," Kevan continued, "I cannot support sending Lorch among their people until we know the truth of things!"

Tywin brooded on his golden throne for a moment, "I hope…" he sighed and the tough exterior fell away, leaving only a tired and concerned father, "I hope Jaime is alive and well, but if he is not I will not allow his killers to escape justice Kevan."

Kevan nodded, "This is a wise course, I have sent ravens to our vassals ordering them to gather their forces and meet us at the Golden Tooth."  
Tywin's anger returned, "Good… see that the fleet is gathered as well, I want Lord Crakehall in command, he-" he stopped and noticed Eomer for the first time, "Prince Eomer… you must forgive me for the state of things." He was at least attempting the dignified front now.

"Lord Tywin what has happened?" Eomer asked, "Last night we dined and sung songs and this morning you march to war?"

Tywin sighed, "After you left to your chambers last night I received a message from my son Tyrion in Minas Tirith. It seems that he was going to return from Mordor by way of Gondor and the young Captain Boromir attacked him in a rage believing that he would recommend an alliance with Mordor… my son Jaime came to his brother's defense and though he was able to slay over a dozen men he was killed." He rubbed his temples, "My son Tyrion, my daughter Cersei, and my granddaughter Mycrella are held hostage in Minas Tirith, Tyrion was able to escape briefly to send this letter. What they intend to do with the rest of my family is unknown…"

Eomer was shocked, he had met Boromir once years before, though only briefly, but he didn't seem the type of man to do such a thing, "There is only this letter as proof?" He asked suddenly, "Perhaps this is some trick-"

"It is Tyrion's handwriting," Tywin said firmly, "His penmanship is the only field he ever surpassed his brother in."

"He still could have been coerced, the prince is right that we cannot take this letter as absolute proof," an exasperated Kevan cut in. "We should send a letter demanding Jaime return at once, and if he does we will obviously know he is intact."

Tywin shook his head, "No, if they have murdered Jaime that would only give them time to prepare for our attack, and we are lions not lambs in any case." The lord of Casterly Rock clenched his fist, "We will march on Dol Amroth and besiege it, if they cannot produce Jaime we will make the Sack of King's Landing look like a mummer's farce."

"What of the others?" Kevan asked, "What of Cersei, Tyrion, and Myrcella?"

"After tales reach them of what we will do to captured cities they will surrender them rather than let Minas Tirith suffer such," Tywin replied, "If they are still harmed…" He seemed at a loss for words, "We will take appropriate actions then." He finished.

"You would butcher their people to send such a message?" Eomer asked horrified, "That's an orc's strategy, not a man's!"

Tywin glared at him, "Prince Eomer my son may be dead, this world will know what happens to those who show such disrespect to our house." He looked down, "A family name is all you have really… all you have…" he muttered.

Eomer was silent, but he let the disgust stay on his face, seeing this Kevan gestured for him to leave. He stalked out of the throne room wondering if he should make arrangements to leave. When he was about to exit the hallway he heard a voice call to him suddenly.

"Prince Eomer!" it was the Lord Paramount's brother Kevan, "Prince Eomer I must speak with you."

With a sigh he stopped, "Yes Ser Kevan?"

"The matter we spoke of, it is more important now than ever. Tywin is… he is not at his best right now, but when we have recovered his children he will still be interested in an alliance."

Eomer snorted, "If you are to be at war with Gondor you will soon be at war with Rohan, we have been allies for generations."

"Be that as it may we are not at war yet, if war could be prevented I would do so, and I think you can help me in this."

Eomer raised an eyebrow, "How would I do that exactly?"

"I have heard that the Rohirrim are fast riders," Kevan said quietly.

"The fastest," Eomer replied firmly.

Kevan nodded, "I would ask you to ride into Gondor and see if they have made preparations for war, if they are acting as though they have just killed a foreign lord's son."

"You would ask me to act as a scout against Gondor?" He asked indignantly, "Why not ask me to lead your knights for you as well?"

"We need a more complete picture of what has happened," Kevan said impatiently, "Tywin has let himself fall into anger and grief, but as days go by he will become determined to know the situation. If Gondor lays open to attack on their Western border and no troops have amassed it may at least give him pause."

Eomer thought about this, "Are you not worried I would tell the Gondorians of your approach?"

"If they have really killed Jaime then they likely know we are coming in any case," he replied grimly. "If they have not the word of a prince of Rohan might help convince more aggressive minds at court of their innocence."

"Are you not worried I would lie to you?" he asked quietly.

Kevan looked him in the eyes for a moment, "Would you lie to me?"

"No. No I wouldn't," Eomer replied without hesitation.

Kevan nodded and sighed, "I thought as much, do this thing for me, for Tywin too in truth, and I can promise that you will be rewarded."

"What manner of reward are you offering?" He asked curiously, "I've little need of gold or horses…"

Kevan seemed to understand what he was really asking, "If we are truly at war then there will be little we can spare for you."

"And if you are not at war?" The question hung in the air a moment before Kevan answered him.

"Then a Lannister always pays his debts."

Eomer nodded, "I will leave at first light tomorrow with my men. Where shall I seek you upon my return?"

"The Golden Tooth," Kevan replied, "We will gather there and you will pass it on your way to Gondor regardless." He handed Eomer a letter, "This will grant you passage through any of our lands and it orders any lord you come upon to supply you in the name of House Lannister."

"Grima," he said suddenly, "He will be suspicious of a long absence… and Theodred will wonder as well. If I tell them you want this thing done Grima will almost certainly condemn me for it and I will be ordered to return to Edoras."

Kevan thought a moment, "We have ravens from Edoras in our tower. The maester we sent you returned a few for this purpose. You could send a letter saying you have decided to tour our countryside perhaps?"

He laughed at the notion, "Theodred would see right through that, Grima would too most likely. I'm not a man known for such flights of fancy."

Kevan smiled a little at that, "No, you didn't seem such, that's why I thought I could ask this of you." He stroked his jaw a moment, "What if we said that thieves stole your horses one night?"

Eomer nodded, "Yes that would explain a delay of a few weeks…" He grinned, "Especially if stingy hosts failed to provide remounts."

Kevan was not amused, "Perhaps you should write that you pursued the thieves over the course of a week or two and caught them."

Eomer shrugged, "I suppose it makes no difference, when I have returned I will likely explain the truth of things anyway. Grima will find it much harder to speak ill of me when I stand before him."

"If this task ends up saving lives I would hope even he would commend you for it," Kevan said.

He rolled his eyes, "I don't believe Grima cares for lives so much as his own authority, I am sure he would speak poorly of me no matter what course I took here. If you have nothing else I will prepare my men for departure and ride for Gondor."

Kevan nodded, "I thank you." He turned to walk back to the throne room where Eomer could hear Lord Tywin yelling again.

 _I suppose this is how friendships of old were formed,_ he thought to himself, _A rider doing a good turn for a man he owed nothing._ He reached his chambers and saw the book was still open to the chapter on the Tully's and their marriage alliance with the Starks. He closed it with a huff, _distasteful though they are Rohan needs friends now._


	35. XXXV The Crow's Eye

**A/N: Sorry for the formatting problems with the last chapter, I'm not sure what happened exactly but it's been fixed. If this becomes a recurring problem you can read this story on the thread over at spacebattles in the creative writing forum, just use the threadmarks to skip to the latest chapter. I'd provide a link but this site censors all of my attempts to do so. Google is your friend I guess. Anyways let's get back to our story!**

 **XXXV**

 **The Crow's Eye**

Euron had grown to love the whispery world of the palantir, the great distances one could fly… it was almost enough of a treasure on it's own to sate his thirst… almost. He'd avoided others for a time, he sometimes saw the Steward of Gondor, attempting to spy on the hosts of Mordor, sometimes the man in white would appear around the lands of Isengard.

The Eye though, the Eye was something more… It had offered him treasures and power if he would bow, and perhaps in time he would, but he would come to the Dark Lord on his own terms. _I am the storm_ , he thought to himself.

It was raining softly now, he stretched his arms and walked to the front of the ship. They'd taken a wooden carving in the shape of a sad looking woman from a ship that had been a little too slow one day. It's hands were held out in mourning and, liking the look of it, he'd taken to placing the palantir in them while he looked through it. He did so now, pulling the cloth covering off and meeting hands with the weeping woman.

With a sound like rushing water he found himself in the skies above the bay of Belfalas.

 _Back again Crow's Eye?_

He could hear the voice of the Dark Lord and steeled himself, even for one as… experienced with the unnatural as he was, communing directly could strain the mind.

 _Come to me…_

He felt himself appear before the Barad-Dur again, the pupil of the great flaming eye dilated and the Dark Lord himself walked through it like a door, clad in great spiked armor and standing at least eight feet tall.

He cleared his throat, "My Lord I have an answer to your proposal."

 _Do you now?  
_  
He suddenly felt a sharp pain inside his head and he fought to suppress a scream, "The seas!" he shouted, and the pain subsided and the dark lord looked at him curiously.

 _What of the seas?_

"If I serve you I want the seas! I would have them for all time," He said a little more calmly.

Sauron laughed at this, _You are a captain Euron Greyjoy… a man does not walk off the dock and into a position as your first mate does he?_

"Give me an opportunity to show you what I am capable of!" He said, "What I truly am."

The dark lord seemed to consider this, _What opportunity would you suggest?_ he asked in a mocking tone.

"Give me the city of Umbar and I will make it's men a tool worthy of you, they shall be _Ironborn_."

 _A city of men cannot be given like a city of orcs can_

"Then I ask for a free hand and your blessing to take it." He said confidently, "If I can take Umbar with a single ship then surely I would be a more worthy ruler than the fools that rule now?"

The Dark Lord was silent a moment, but then spoke, _They have disappointed me greatly for ones so proud of their Westron blood… If you can subdue them then I will give this my blessing._ _Go._

He felt himself thrown out of the world of the palantir and he fell back a few feet across the deck. He looked around at the mutes staring at him curiously and he let his face become warm and confident.

"Sail for Umbar," he'd been there already of course, but he'd kept a low profile and simply sought to get a feel for the city. This time he would arrive as a conqueror. He smiled as the wind picked up, perhaps this little drizzle would become a storm after all.

They sailed into the Haven, the great kraken on the sails fully inflated by the winds and his crow's eye standard waving wildly. The rain stopped and the wind calmed as they approached, though strange shaped and low hanging clouds continued to drift over the waters. He could see a number of fishermen in the harbor watching his ship go by, and one of the great black ships he know to be a corsair raider began following him too.

 _It's to be a spectacle then…_ "Cragorn!" he shouted, one of the mutes perked up hearing his name, "Prepare Dragonbinder!" rushing to his command the men ran to a great chest at the back of the ship and hoisted the great horn into place near the front.

Finally after a time they reached the docks of the city, looking back he saw at least four of the great ships had followed him in now.

 _They don't want me to escape…_ He thought with amusement. He climbed high on the bow of the ship and looked to the gathered men of the docks, a number of men he guessed were soldiers had arrived and even those unloading things on the dock stared at him curiously, gripping crowbars, wooden cudgels, or whatever was handy.

"Greetings to the people of Umbar, I am Euron Greyjoy captain of _Silence,_ called the Crow's Eye!" He shouted.

"Well that answers my first question," One of the men, a tall blond fellow with a regal face and angular cheekbones, said. "My second is why have you borne that standard into my city… it is said that it flies above a ship of raiders that have pillaged Gondor and Harad alike, a ship that has even been said to strike at our own Corsairs." An angry murmur was going up from the crowd and the man smiled, "Though of course if you have come to turn yourself in and face your penance a lifetime of servitude for you and your crew would of course be acceptable." The crowd laughed a bit now.

 _Laughter? I'll silence that,_ he gestured to Cragorn who blew the horn. Where the air was filled with laughter a moment before now the loud and low baleful sound of the hellhorn filled the air. The runes on the horn glowed brightly and some of the men down on the docks covered their ears or fell to their knees. Euron just stood there, eyes closed and hair blowing about his face. After a moment the horn stopped. Cragorn, his lips now covered in blisters and his tattoos oozing blood, fell over onto the dock and then rolled into the sea where steam rose from his sinking corpse.

He grinned seeing the crowd's now shocked faces, "I have been sent by Sauron the Great! He has found your leaders lacking and has named me the new Captain of the Haven!"

"That is preposterous!" the blonde man shouted, " _I_ am captain of the Haven, as my father before me, know you speak to Fuinor! The _true_ Captain of the Haven."

Euron let out a mocking laugh, "You are a failure, like your father before you."

"Watch your tongue or I shall cut it from you!" Fuinor was furious now, "If you claim to speak for the Dark Lord why has he not sent one of his esteemed servants to confirm this?" Fuinor asked angrily.

Euron gestured widely, "One stands before you, if proof is necessary why not settle this in the manner of a true man of the sea?"

Fuinor drew his sword, "Then come down from there and face me you wretch!"

Euron laughed, "Oh I suppose to a "captain" who's become so accustomed to the land a man's measure might be decided by a single blade…" He paused and he could see from the nodding heads and the muttering that he was winning over the assembled sailors.

Fuinor saw this and his anger grew, but he suppressed it and sheathed the sword, "Then what do you propose Greyjoy?"

"Let us meet on the open water, you and all your ships and men against me and mine, let Sauron's favor be shown in battle."

The black Numenorean grinned at this and crossed his arms, "Very well fool, my household alone commands seven greatships and hundreds of men. If you surrender now my offer of a life of slavery is still on the table."

Euron shrugged, "At dusk I will be in the harbor." He looked to the assembled crowd, "Tell everyone to watch tonight and see the will of Sauron." He turned to his crew, "Shove off!" he shouted.

"Let him go," he heard Fuinor yell behind him, "Block the bay though, I will have his head!"

Euron rolled his eyes, he would be glad to be free of the fool. He saw that the greatships were sailing for the bay's exit to block his supposed retreat, but it mattered little. He looked over the smaller ships in the bay, mostly small fishing vessels. He pointed to a pair that were close together.

"There." The men followed his instruction and they were soon alongside the pair of fishing boats. Aboard there were six boys, three in each ship, along with a man he assumed was their father. "You there! Fisherman," he yelled getting the man's attention.

"Whaddaya want? I've got a catch to haul in," the man yelled back.

He kicked open his chest of plunder, causing a number of golden cups and coins to spill out, "How would you like to make some gold today?" he said.

The man's eyes went wide, "What're ya buyin?"

Euron stroked his chin, "Do the men of Umbar use the resin of evergreen trees to patch their hulls?"

The fisherman nodded, "Aye they do, but it's expensive, it's got to come from either Gondor or Rhun. If you need repairs stranger my cousin has a small drydock over in-"

"No, that won't be necessary. I need you to go into the city with your ships and bring me back a few things. I will pay not only for your time and for the cost of the goods, but I will also allow you to take whatever your arms can hold from my chest here when you've returned." He smiled, "Do we have a deal?"

The man's piggy eyes widened and he nodded frantically, "Whaddaya need?"

He stroked his chin, "The pine tar of course, bring a few barrels of it, as much as your first ship can hold. Then I need sulphur, apothecaries or alchemists should have some, I need at least this sack full." He reached down and grabbed a burplap sack tied to the side of the ship and tossed it over to the man. "Finally… are there markets for slaves here?" The man nodded and he continued, "I need either a man who's been a father or a virgin girl, spare no expense to get either one but make sure they are genuine." He threw a rope over and the two men drew the ships close. After the man had taken enough gold to buy the supplies he sat back and whistled, watching the clouds drift by.

Before long the man and his sons returned, their ships riding low in the water from the collected items. Euron watched them approach silently, he could see the barrels of tar on the deck and a bound man he assumed had been a father at some point. They drew the ships close and the man eagerly jumped aboard, shoving a bag of Sulphur into Euron's hands.

"It's all there, now my payment?" For a moment Euron thought about just kicking him overboard and sailing on, but then he saw the man's children and smiled.

"Take your gold," he said pointing to the still open chest, "But a word of advice friend," he pulled his patch aside causing the boys to gasp and the man to step back a bit as his blackened eye was revealed, "Buy yourself a bigger ship and start teaching the boys swordplay." He paused a minute, "In fact take an extra handful of coin and leave one of the ships." The man just nodded, mouth still open in shock, and walked towards the chest.

A short time later Euron was with his new slave on his new ship standing over his pine resin. He casually sprinkled some Sulphur into each barrel. He turned to the slave, an older man with a scraggly beard and wiry arms.

"What is your name?" he asked

" _Django,"_ the slave rasped with a cough, "Could I have some water master?"

Euron gestured for one of the men to bring a cup and as Django drank he stuffed a long rod into the barrels and with a struggle mixed the material with the Sulphur, "Have you any children Django?" he asked.

The slave nodded, "Two of my daughters still live, I had a son but has passed…"

Euron smiled, "It is a noble thing raising children, it raises the worth of even lowly men such as us."

Django smiled, "Kind words master I-" with a single quick fluid motion Euron drew his knife and cut the man's throat. As the man struggled Euron roughly grabbed him by the hair and held his spurting neck over each of the barrels in turn until the wound stopped flowing and the slave lay still.

"You see Django," Euron said to the corpse as he wiped his hands on the dead man's rags, "This is normally a process that takes months, sometimes years, to perform properly. Fortunately in Asshai I learned a way to speed it up a little…" He gestured for his men to go back aboard _Silence_ , leaving him alone on the small fishing vessel.

He held his hands over the barrels and began speaking in a low and terrible voice, " _Klaatu Barada Nikto!"_ The winds picked up slightly and he closed his eyes with a grin, _Ignis! R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!"_ He felt a stirring in him, an energy that raced from his head and down through his fingers, " _Valar Morghulis…"_ he finished with a whisper. He looked down at his work, the mixture in the barrels was now much runnier, with an almost liquid composition, and it was giving off a low green glow.

Dusk came quickly, he didn't bother to give his crew a speech, any that had followed him this far didn't need one. The sun was going down now, and he brought his ship around to face towards the city where he knew the people would be watching. Outlined against the setting sun he knew the great black sails of _Silence_ would be all the more impressive.

He could see the ships coming from the city now, four great black junks, "Fuinor of Umbar," He cackled to no one in particular, "Tell your gods I sent you!" In spite of his excitement for the battle he was a little annoyed that Fuinor hadn't brought all seven of the greatships his family supposedly owned, _More to inherit from him I suppose._ He gestured to the man who was sitting in the fishing boat alongside _Silence_ and the little ship sailed toward the approaching Corsairs. He grinned as he saw the glowing green mixture begin to seep into the water.

" _Fuinor_!" a chant came from the assembled ships, " _Fuinor! Fuinor!"_

"From the sound of things at least he brought plenty of men," Euron said with a sigh, he picked up his bow from the deck of the ship and nocked an arrow. "Can I get a light?" he asked with a giggle, and one of the mutes approached with a torch in hand and lit the end of his arrow. All of them looked at him expectantly and he was confused for a moment before chuckling, "I can't say something clever every time…" With that he loosed the flaming arrow towards the approaching ships, who had just passed the leaking fishing vessel.

A great green fireball lit the waters of Umbar.


	36. XXXVI The Imp

**XXXVI**

 **The Imp**

The days following his failed attempt on Jaime's life were mostly a blur, Tyrion had never drank so much before and gotten so little pleasure from it. Jaime had gone, he remembered that at least, he'd refused to see him before his departure. Each day was merely a search for an end, either passed out drunk or asleep somewhere. His dreams were only a little better, Tysha's crying face often haunted them, as did his father's mocking laugh.

They were keeping him under guard now, not that it mattered since there was no way he'd be leaving in any case. Cersei had come to yell at him at some point, he wasn't sure how long she'd stayed or what she'd said. He'd just mumbled some apologies that only seemed to make her angrier. Myrcella had brought him a bouquet of flowers but he'd merely waved her away, he held nothing against the girl and foresaw that no good that would come from them speaking, it was one of the more coherent thoughts he'd had. Still, during one of his brief moments of sobriety he managed to wonder what Bronn had promised the Citadel Guard to make them leave his chambers while they spoke.

"Lord Tyrion," he said with a sly grin, "I know that things have been a bit… rough, so the lads and I decided we'd get you a little gift to help you back to your senses." The door behind him opened and a pair of beautiful women walked through wearing nothing but smallclothes adorned with jewelry.

"Get them out of here!" he roared as he threw his wine goblet at them. With a startled cry the two girls obeyed and ran back down the hall.

"Alright now, what in the seven hells was that?" Bronn asked angrily, "It's hard enough finding a whore in this city, and harder still to sneak her up here into the citadel."

Tyrion sighed, "I'm sorry Bronn, I'll pay you back for the coin. It's just that…" He sighed, "I'm not in a mood for whores right now."  
Bronn cocked an eyebrow, "Well that's a first, is there anything I can get you then?"

"More wine," Tyrion said, walking over to pick up the thrown cup.

"I didn't think I'd ever be the man saying this but, well… I think you've had enough mate."

Tyrion waved at him dismissively, "Oh what do you care, you're just a sellsword, you wouldn't be here if not for the promise of coin."

Bronn shrugged, "Well I certainly wouldn't risk my neck for you, and if it were hard labor involved you could certainly fuck right off with that, but you're an alright fellow to travel and drink with."

Tyrion smiled, "Kinder words I fear have never been spoken of me. So what have you been doing to keep busy without my company?"

Bronn pulled up a chair next the small table Tyrion had sat at, "Well I've been with Crakehall and Shagga mostly. Alright sorts, if a bit thick."

Suddenly he chuckled, "You won't believe it, Crakehall knighted Shagga."

He felt a smile appear on his face for the first time in days, "You must be joking, he's a skilled fighter but he's no knight!"

"Well the way Crakehall tells it any knight can make a knight of any other man he deems worthy," he paused a moment, "You know if that's true?"

Tyrion rolled his eyes, "Technically yes, I suppose it is, tell me what coat of arms has "Ser" Shagga taken?"

"He's not just Ser Shagga, he's Ser Shagga of House Dolf, and his sigil is a grey crow atop three peaks," Bronn replied, "He's already had patches made and he's sown them onto his clothes."

"A stone crow," Tyrion said thoughtfully, "I'll give him this, it's clever enough… though with the rest of the Stone Crows living around the Tooth somewhere I have a feeling there might be some fighting over who gets to use it."

"Well those fools can figure it out themselves," Bronn said with a smile, "Come on, you've been in here too long, let's go take a walk."

The two of them left through the throne room, which had been scrubbed clean and now reflected the morning sun brightly. Tyrion noticed a pair of guards had begun shadowing them but didn't say anything, he knew they had good cause to do so.

They finally came to the courtyard where Faramir, and the Wizard Gandalf the Grey waited for them. From the way they were arrayed and the silence at his approach Tyrion could tell they waited for him.

"Greetings wizard," Tyrion said, "I suppose your business here is something to do with me?"

Gandalf gave him a small smile, "I'm afraid so yes, Faramir sent a great many messengers to seek me out and one finally caught up with me."

"And Bronn?" He asked

"We felt it best that a friendly face fetch you," Faramir said.

Tyrion laughed, "Then why'd you send Bronn?"

"Hey now," Bronn said in mock offense, "You'd say that after all we've been through?" He looked embarrassed a moment at the Wizard and the Ranger, "He err… He didn't need as much time with the girls as I'd thought."

Tyrion was about to make a remark about that but suddenly he realized someone was missing, "Where is Denethor?" he asked suddenly, "Surely he should be here for… whatever this is?"

Gandalf rolled his eyes, "Sometimes the Steward does not know the best course of action even when it lays directly in front of him. It is fortunate that Boromir is in the field today, he's a good man but in this regard he is his father's son."

Tyrion considered this, "So you mean to do something with me that you do not believe the Steward will approve of… I can't say I'm thrilled with whatever it could be."

"It was your brother's request actually," Faramir said, "Something I promised him I'd do before he left. He asked me to find what help I could for you, and if none could be found to send you into hiding. He fears your father's wrath…"

"And with good reason," Tyrion said searching for his flask. He realized it must've been taken from him at some point over the last few days and sighed, "He will likely follow my dear sister's advice and take my head. Trying to kill Jaime gives him the pretense to do what he's desired since my birth." He chuckled grimly, "I'll probably leave this life the same way I came into it, being punished for a crime I didn't even get to commit."

"Lord Tyrion I will hear no more of this talk," Gandalf said firmly in a voice that shocked the dwarf. "Whatever else you are still a living man, I will take you from here to a safe place where you may perhaps find some sort of peace."

"All this just for me, I'm touched. And what do I owe you for this pleasure Wizard?"

Gandalf sighed, "You are not the only reason I must travel to Rivendell… and in any case the ring of King Thrain could not be allowed to remain in Gondor," he produced the ring that had been given to Tyrion and he suddenly felt a brief longing for it, but it was overwhelmed by sorrow.

"I care little in any case," he said with resignation, "Casterly Rock, Minas Tirith, Rivendell… I doubt there's much for me in any of them."

Bronn stepped forward, "Whatever does wait for you wherever you're going, we had some good days together, take care Tyrion Lannister."  
He smiled a little but couldn't find any words for his friend.

The horses were already packed and prepared, Gandalf traveled light and it seemed he expected Tyrion to do the same. They left the city without fanfare, going through a far Northern gate in the Rammas Echor that Gandalf explained was seldom used, and therefore unlikely to be graced by an inspection from Boromir or his father.

They rode northward and passed many folk on the road who seemed to pay them little notice, "It's considered somewhat rude to point and stare at Dwarves," Gandalf explained, "There are many stories that if one does so they will soon find a quarrel, and there are none so stubborn in quarrels as Dwarves."

"Well that's the first time I've gotten anything for being a dwarf," Tyrion said sarcastically, "Aren't Durin's folk supposed to wear great beards?"  
Gandalf chuckled, "Few in these parts have met a dwarf, they live far to the north and they're not fond of travel, it takes a promise of wealth or a hate of foes to bring them forth."

"And Wizards?" He asked, "Is it rude to point and stare at a Wizard?"

"Wizards look like any other old man," Gandalf replied, "Is it common where you come from to point and stare at old men?"

"If they wear great big hats like that yes I imagine that they would attract at least a passing comment," He thought a moment, "Gandalf, how old are you?"

Gandalf was silent for a time, "It's probably best not to say Tyrion," he said finally, "Just know that I've aged gracefully."

"I know that there are those who are deathless," Tyrion said, "I've met them myself…" he shuddered remembering the Nazgul's withered visage.

"Whatever stories they told you were but lies and half truths meant to make you their slave," the Wizard was angry now, "They have turned many good men to evil paths with their false promises and dark arts." His voice suddenly grew quiet, "Faramir told me what your father did to you… your brother as well."

Tyrion scowled, "Good, now everyone will be sure to know what happens when someone disgraces House Lannister," tears stung his eyes now, "Shall I sing the Rains of Castamere to drive how the message?"

The road grew rocky and their travel slowed, "Tyrion…" The wizard started, he sighed and brought his horse to a stop. "I cannot tell you I know the pain you have suffered, I don't envy anyone who could… But I am certain that there is some light in your soul, and in your brother's…"

"Then you are a fool," Tyrion spat. "I would've gladly been a kinslayer, and Jaime betrayed many others he was sworn to protect before he betrayed me."

"King Aerys?" Gandalf snorted dismissively, "Yes I know of _that,_ a king that would do such things is no king that has earned a faithful servant. Do not hold it against Jaime that he would not go to battle against his own family for a man who had committed such atrocities." His serious demeanor returned, "As for you, he has done you a great wrong, and nothing he says or does could ever repay that debt."

"A Lannister always pays his debts…" Tyrion mumbled.

"So I've heard," Gandalf said sarcastically, "But when such a debt is incurred forgiveness is sometimes the proper path. Can you truly say you have no more love for your brother?"

"No…" Tyrion muttered, "I cannot."

"Nor would he say the same of you, else he would have done as you feared he would and killed you. Instead he sends you to safety."

They began riding onwards again. Tyrion thought over what the Wizard had said, in fact very little else occupied his thoughts. He realized the Wizard was right, Jaime still cared for him, but his brother had helped steal away the only woman who'd ever loved him…

They were passing a city now, not a large one by Westerosi stanards, but a city nonetheless. He took the opportunity to try and get the Wizard to stop for some drinks and perhaps a bed.

"Gandalf, perhaps we should rest there tonight," he said, pointing towards the walled settlement.

"No. We will not stop in Aldburg," The Wizard replied, "Rohan is less friendly than it used to be. We will stop in no settlements until we have passed these borders… I fear the enemy's spies."

 _No inns or wine then,_ Tyrion thought with annoyance, "Perhaps we could wear some manner of disguise?"

Gandalf laughed genuinely now, "Lord Tyrion man does not live on wine alone… if you need drink so badly I promise that Rivendell has the fullest and richest in all of Middle Earth." Tyrion crossed his arms and a sour expression sat upon his face, but he said nothing in protest. Gandalf just smiled and they traveled on.

A few nights later they were awoken by a high sharp howl, "Wolves!" Tyrion whispered. One of the items that had been packed in his supplies had been a long knife, perhaps just long enough to be used as a short sword for one of his height. He drew it now and looked into the darkness. He couldn't see much, the embers of their fire had gone low now.

Gandalf whispered something and his staff lit up the roadside where they camped, a white light shining from the strange crystal atop it, "There should be no wolves in Rohan…" He growled, "At least none that prey upon men."

Out of the dark a beast lunged and with a cry the Wizard drew his sword and slashed at it's throat with an accuracy that Tyrion would've expected out of his brother. That was just the first and most eager of the wolves, five of them entered the circle of light now, their mouths foaming and their eyes black as night.

"Fuck me," Tyrion rasped, he backed towards the Wizard, who scanned the creatures with a determined look. The wolves were nothing like the animals Tyrion knew, they were much larger for one, and they had enormous fangs that made those of the Dire-Wolves on the Stark banner seem small by comparison.

Suddenly one lunged at Tyrion, jaws open wide. Gandalf pirouetted quickly and stabbed the beast right in the throat. Another ran towards the Wizard's flank but he brought his staff down on it's head with a loud crack and then his sword penetrated the stunned animal's eye.

While the Wizard's back was turned one of the remaining wolves jumped towards him. With a grimace Tyrion ran forward and stuck his blade outward with his eyes closed. He heard a whimper and when he dared to look again a dead beast lay before him, a bleeding wound on it's neck. The remaining two barked loudly and ran off into the night, leaving Gandalf and Tyrion panting in a mixture of exhaustion and triumph.

"They won't come again," Gandalf said confidently, "They saw an old man and a Halfling on the road and they found naught but cold steel."

"Surely such creatures cannot think," Tyrion said as he sheathed his sword.

"Those were Wargs," Gandalf said angrily, "If you wonder if they can think simply see to our mounts."

Tyrion turned and saw that their horses had been savaged, their throats torn open and their legs covered in deep bites. Their mounts had not died well.

"Aldburg is but two day's ride behind us," Tyrion said suddenly, "We could walk back there and-"

"No," Gandalf interrupted, "It would be shorter to walk to Edoras now… though I am uncertain we shall receive a warm welcome."

"Oh lovely" he said, "What was it, a pretty noble girl or perhaps a tavern quarrel that went bad?"

"Neither," the wizard replied, "I could not tell you why Grima despises me, only that he does. Theoden, King of Rohan, unfortunately heeds his counsel."

"Well then let's not speak with him, it seems that Faramir packed me some of my gold, let's just buy some new horses and be done with it."

Gandalf just smiled at him, "Will any man look at a Westerosi gold dragon and conclude it arrived in Edoras by chance? No, we will seek an audience with the king… for better or for worse."

Tyrion shrugged, "He can hardly be worse than the kings I've willingly knelt before." He thought a moment, "Will the Wargs return?"

"No," Gandalf said confidently, "They will not trouble us this night at least." Somehow Tyrion believed him and slept soundly. When the sun rose they began the walk to Edoras.

 **A/N: I suppose I've been neglecting my reader base here and for that I'm sorry. This was discussed on the various forums I'm posting this to about a month ago so it slipped my mind when I posted here. Anyways for some reference the Westerlands has a population that has been calculated as being between 3 and 5 million total, and in some (in my opinion inflated) estimates as high as 15 million. These estimates are generally made by medieval scholars and are based around the number of troops they can field at any given time. Gondor has similarly been estimated at a population of between 2 and 4 million, and Rohan is usually estimated at just under 1 million itself. For the purposes of this fic assume that Gondor and the Westerlands both have a population of around 4 million. The Westerlands can raise around 30,000 "elite" troops with a division of around 10,000 cavalry and 20,000 foot. If everything is called up they can probably manage around 45,000 with around 12,500 cavalry and 32,500 foot. If they put a sword in every old man and boy's hand fit to carry one they could probably manage 50-60k, but most of those raised would be infantry.**

 **Weylandcorp 4 - We'll probably get a full account of it if ever Tyrion and Sandor meet but essentially my vision was that Tyrion promised Gregor a chance to be "off the leash" if ever he became lord of the Westerlands. Gregor doesn't care much about anything but getting to hurt people, an evil Tyrion could offer him that on a scale Tywin never could.**

 **Hotrod 333 - The Starks are fun and all, but Ned would take one look at Mordor and call the banners to war. Hell if we go by the same rules as this fic Robert Baratheon would probably get teleported to Middle Earth with him and then you'd have a great story of two friends taking on Mordor together... problem is that's a fairly predictable story. I'm sure it could be fun as a sort of mini-series and maybe I'll write it as an omake for Hear Me Roar when it's all done (given the requests I've gotten on Spacebattles we might see a mini of each great house) but I doubt I'll be writing it as a full length separate fic. If anyone else wants to feel free though, I don't own Game of Thrones or Lord of the Rings so I couldn't stop you even if I wanted to.**

 **Cyricist001 - Yep Euron knows most of the crazy magicks that lurk on the edge of the map in a World of Ice and Fire. He got to come along for the ride in this fic because he's one of the more supernaturally active characters in Martin's series and if the Lannisters have to deal with a world of elves and Wizards then Middle Earth has to deal with the dark wonders of Asshai.**


	37. XXXVII The Golden Knight

**XXXVII  
The Golden Knight  
**

It had been Denethor's wish that he take a party of at least a dozen to return to the Westerlands, but he'd decided to go alone to make sure none would slow him, every day he stalled was another day a war could start. Instead of his bright golden armor he dressed only in a chainmail shirt which he hid by wearing rags over it. He'd strapped Brightroar to his back, now covered by a plain leather sheath instead of the ornate one he'd first chosen from Gondor's armory. He was about to leave just before the morning dawn when he was approached by Addam Marbrand, who was also dressed and packed for travel.

"Ser Jaime you fool," he said, "Are you really going to try and go it alone? Do you know how much trouble I'm already going to be in for failing to protect you?"

He shrugged, "I'm alive aren't I?"

"That you are," the other knight said, "but somehow I doubt your father will see it that way, especially if the next word that reaches him of my performance is that I let you run off into the countryside on your own."

"So what are you saying exactly?" he asked.

Marbrand rolled his eyes, "I'm coming with you, that way if you run yourself to exhaustion and ride off a cliff at least someone's there to bring back the body."

Jaime smirked, "Well if I do go tumbling into a ravine I'll be sure to spend my final moments writing you a glowing letter of praise before I expire. Let's be off then."

They rode out through Minas Tirith wordlessly, he could see that even while wearing rags and a hoods over their heads a number of the people still recognized the pair of them and hushed whispers and pointing fingers soon filled the sidestreets. One of the braver men ran up and tried to offer him some manner of pastry but he just waved the vendor aside without a word. This seemed to deter the rest of them.

Crossing Pelennor fields to the outer wall was much more peaceful, though there were some small townships inside the Rammas Echor he hadn't spent a great deal of time in any of them and he doubted they would be troubled.

As they left through the outer gate he looked back to the city briefly, _They must get Tyrion to safety,_ he thought, _Even if father believes me about the ring's magic it would be best for Tyrion to be elsewhere, outside of his reach or influence._

"I must say I can't believe the imp really tried to kill you," Marbrand interrupted his thoughts, "If my little brother tried that I wouldn't leave here without his head in a bag."

"He was driven to it by dark powers," Jaime said.

"Seems an easy excuse to make after the fact," Marbrand scoffed, "I'll give you this, after killing a few orcs I'm more open to believing some of these Gondorian fables, but that's no excuse for kinslaying. There are some lines a man just doesn't cross."

"Like Kingslaying?" Jaime asked bitterly.

Marbrand seemed uncomfortable, "Well that's different Ser Jaime, Aerys was mad. There were… extenuating circumstances."

"And there were here too," Jaime replied, "I'll speak no more of it until we see my father."

The two of them rode on for a time mostly in silence, days passed as they traveled south around the curve of the White Mountains. They avoided all but the smallest settlements, often stopping at lone farmhouses to purchase a loaf of bread or perhaps some jerky using Gondorian coppers that couldn't be traced back to a Lannister.

Jaime's thoughts again returned to his brother when they passed outside Pelargir, a large river port that seemed to be built into the water itself. The very streets were channels of from the Anduin that even from a distance he could see were being used by a number of small ships. This was the type of marvel that Tyrion would've diverted the entire party to see…

Perhaps one day I'll come here with him

, he thought, _When all this is settled… when I've gotten him to forgive me and we've made amends._ He turned his head away from the city and led Marbrand to a stone bridge that crossed the river Sirith, descending down from the mountains.

As they passed from Pelargir Jaime's thoughts turned dark, _What if he never speaks to me again? What if…_ He cleared his mind, better to think of nothing than that. His horse stumbled and he felt a brief pain in his shoulder, though the wound was healing well it was another reminder of the betrayal that he and Tyrion had wrought upon one another.

After another few days of travel they saw the city of Dol Amroth on the horizon, he turned to Marbrand, "Ser Addam, I'm afraid the time has come for us to part ways."

"What?" Marbrand asked surprised, "Why?"

"Between Dol Amroth and the Tooth the lands are sparsely populated, if there is another party of assassins you must tell my father that we made it at least as far as Dol Amroth and out of the Steward's reach. By now there are ravens in the city and I'd have you take this," he produced a letter in his own hand and sealed in with a Lannister lion that he'd written before leaving Minas Tirith, "have it flown to my father and write one yourself confirming it's authenticity."

"Surely the letter serves as proof enough-"

"I must go alone ser Addam, only seeing me will stay my father's wrath, and if I cannot finish the journey or the letters fail to reach him you must stay here and stop him from razing this city."

Marbrand considered this, "Ser Jaime… I do not mean to be harsh but, well… Some knights learn the ways of foraging and survival and some knights become masters of the sword."

Jaime laughed at the implication, "Are you worried I'll starve?"

"Quite frankly I am more concerned you'll drink stagnant water and then die from dehydration after shitting your guts out somewhere," Addam replied sourly.

Jaime rolled his eyes, "Do as I command Ser Marbrand, I promise I won't drink any stagnant water."

After two days ride beyond Dol Amroth Jaime was beginning to regret the decision to split from Marbrand, where the other knight had laid a number of small snare traps around their camp every night Jaime was realizing he didn't know how to tie any of them. Another setback had come when he'd seen a number of berries growing on the side of the road. Although they looked appetizing he knew better than to eat them… unfortunately he'd tied his horse within a few feet of them and he woke to see the animal laying on the ground giving a soft moaning sound.

"Well isn't that just bloody great," He said angrily looking down at the creature. He looked in both directions and saw no one on the road. He sat back down for a minute and decided he would wait a few hours for his mount to recover.

Instead it just groaned loudly and panted, just when he was about to cut the poor animal's throat he saw a small party of men approaching on horseback. Most of them wore scaled mail and open helmets which framed their eyes. A white horse on a green background was painted upon their shields and the leader wore a dark red lacquered armor that could almost be that of the Lannister redcloaks if not for the spiraled patterns on it. They saw him and slowed their approach. The lead man dismounted.

"Hail stranger, do you come from Dol Amroth?" The man asked.

"There's not much else in that direction," Jaime said hesitantly, the fear of assassins was still with him. "Why do you ask?"

"I have been bidden to approach the city by the lords of the Westerlands to determine the truth of certain… rumors," he replied, "Does Dol Amroth prepare for war?"

Jaime cocked an eyebrow, "That's quite a question to ask a fellow traveler… As a Gondorian I don't know if I-"

"You are clearly from the Westerlands," the leader interrupted. He pointed to Jaime's horse, "No horse in middle earth will eat rochsbane berries, it seems those of your country haven't yet learned why." He dismounted and walked over to the beast which gave another low grunt, "He should be fine in a day or two and hopefully he won't make the same mistake again." He turned back to Jaime, "That simply leaves the question of why you lied to me."

 _Either they're really here on father's orders or they're likely to kill me all the same_ , Jaime thought, _best to just get things out in the open._

"I am Jaime Lannister," he said suddenly, "It seems that in an attempt to goad our nations to war a rumor of my death was spread, but as you can see" he gestured to himself, "I'm quite alive and well."

The man snorted, "Alone on the side of the road with a sick horse is hardly well, I am Eomer, prince of Rohan and I have been bidden to see if Gondor prepares for war with your people." He looked at Jaime's rags and dirt covered hands, "I don't suppose you can offer some proof of your identity?"

"Prince Eomer of Rohan?" He asked skeptically, "I've heard the name but you seem awfully far from home."

"I've ten men who will agree I am who I say I am," Eomer said tersely, "what do you have?"

Jaime thought a moment and then with a flourish he unsheathed Brightroar causing several of the men to level spears at him, "Is this the sword of a common peasant?" He asked. The sword caught the light in an impressive manner showing off the many waving patterns in the Valyrian steel.

Eomer looked at it, "An impressive blade to be sure, but I've never seen Jaime Lannister's sword. Have you got anything else?"

 _I Should've made another stamped letter,_ he thought with annoyance, "Have you met my father?" he asked.

"I've met Tywin Lannister yes," Eomer replied, "What of him?"

"He's a humorless man who went out of his way to impress you upon your first meeting I'd gather. Since you're a prince I'd also guess he's embroiled you in some scheme relating to either your hand in marriage or the succession of your land. Am I far off?" His smug smile unnerved the prince.

Eomer was quiet for a moment, "I suppose you must have at least met Lord Tywin at some point… and you do have the Lannister look to you. We will bring you back and determine if you are the real Jaime Lannister." He gestured to one of his men to lead one of the spare horses forward, "I can give you one of my remounts, take that saddle off your other horse and ride with us."

He did so and they set off at a much greater pace than he'd been travelling at, he'd never ridden a war horse of this stamina before and he looked around amazed that all of the party's horses seemed to carry the armored men like they were nothing. Jaime was himself a skilled rider, but these men seemed to have been born in the saddle. Where he had expected the party to take another five days at least to reach the Golden Tooth they arrived in only three.

An army of perhaps twenty five to thirty thousand men had been gathered at the Golden Tooth for the second time in the span of a year, _If nothing else I'm certain Lord Lefford is tired of hosting so many men_ , Jaime thought. Eomer raised his banner high, the white horse of Rohan fluttering in the breeze as the men approached. _No need for this now,_ he thought, and threw back his hood. His hair was dirty and he had several days beard growth unshorn on his face, but the excited murmurs went up through the camp as he rode by anyways. He could see men running in every direction, _They'll know I've returned,_ _they'll know we are not at war with Gondor._

Finally he came to the Tooth itself, the great gate flew open and his father stood there, clade in his red armor with the golden roaring lions on his shoulders, a great crimson cape billowing behind him in the same wind that held the Rohan standard aloft. He should have been impressive, but he'd never looked so small to Jaime. He dismounted and walked to his father, who stumbled forward and embraced him in the first hug he could remember ever receiving from the man.

Suddenly as if realizing what he was doing Tywin broke the hug and coughed, "I am pleased to see you are alive and well Jaime. I received your letter but in these strange days seeing is believing."

"Lord Tywin," Eomer called, "I have returned your son to you and war has been averted. Let us discuss your proposal now in earnest."

Tywin nodded, "Stable your horses and meet me in at the gatehouse." He turned to Jaime, "You'll need to be present too, go wash your face and put on some proper clothing."

About a half hour later the three men met in the gatehouse which had been cleared of all othes, leaving them alone. A map had been arrayed on a table and Jaime could tell from the number of assembled chairs that his father had been holding his war councils here. He and Eomer took a seat across from the old lion.

"I believe that in light of these repeated attempts on your life retaliation against Mordor is warranted," Tywin began, "the only question is how we go about this and to what extent they shall be punished…" he pointed to Umbar, "the Corsair city is the most exposed target, though I would enjoy teaching this "Lord of the Minas Morgul" what happens to those who would play me for a fool."

"Lord Tywin," Eomer said, he paused as though not sure what to say, "Mordor fears no reprisals… I have slain many orcs and yet their leaders do not fear me, I have destroyed their foul nests root and stem but they think nothing of building more." He pointed to the Morgul Vale, "You wish to punish Sauron as you would an errant child, but one does not simply walk into Mord-"

"They tried to kill my eldest and they bewitched my youngest!" Tywin snapped, "If I allow this all the great houses and peoples of the world will know that the lion merely mewls instead of roars." He paused and breathed out slowly, "I will not let House Lannister fall into disrespect as my father did, I do not care if we need to murder thousands, tens of thousands! The Rains of Castamere could always use another verse."

Eomer sighed, "Lord Tywin… you seek to strike fear into a creature born of it. Sauron fears no living man, elf, or dwarf and even one such as you, who has built his family name on such cannot teach it to him."

Tywin glared at the prince for a time, "We will see…" he muttered. He turned to Jaime, "What has become of Tyrion? Magic or no he will face consequences for this betrayal."

"Father he was enchanted!" Jaime exclaimed, "you cannot punish him for being merely a man in the face of sorcery!"

"I have seen sorcery," Tywin said, "I have felt it's foul touch on my own mind and here I stand before you, unmarred by it. Why can Tyrion not say the same?"

"He has fled by now in any case," Jaime said angrily, "I made arrangements with the Wizard Gandalf for his protection."

"The Wizard?" Tywin growled, "Jaime the Wizards are no better than Sauron himself, I suspect they may even be in league with him." He looked with disgust at his son, "No doubt he played some trick on your mind as well."

"Lord Tywin," Eomer started, "whatever may be said of Saruman, Gandalf Greyhame has ever been a loyal friend to the people of Rohan."

Tywin rolled his eyes, "Both of you will one day grow out of the romanticism of youth. Let Tyrion go then, let him drink away his days in some gods forsaken corner of the earth, and let him take all Wizards with him."

He calmed himself and turned to Eomer, "Now I believe you had some arrangement with Kevan, what strategy do you believe would be best for establishing your uncle's regency?"

Eomer studied the map, "Most of the orcs and wargs enter Rohan from the West over the Fords of Isen, some come out of the Misty Mountains and sometimes human bandits come from Dunland to accompany them." He thought a moment, "If you could send a force of a few thousand men to hold the fords until such time as my cousin and I have dealt with Grima I believe the people of Rohan would be safe."

Tywin nodded, "You do not desire any direct support?"

Eomer shook his head, "This is a matter best settled by the men of Rohan. Grima's men follow him for the promise of quick reward, I believe most will abandon him when a true struggle presents itself."

"I am never so optimistic of any conflict," Tywin said curtly, "Go to Lord Leffort and have him give you at least a few thousand gold dragons. If most of Grima's men are sellswords it will be easier to buy them off rather than fight them." He looked at the map a moment, "I will order Lords Banefort, Westerling, and Marbrand to marshal their forces at the Banefort and await your raven. Tell the Maester in Edoras that Tywin Lannister sends his regards, he should cooperate fully." He paused, "Will your cousin Theodred support this plan?"

"If I counsel it he will," Eomer said confidently, "He knows as well as I that Grima cares not for Rohan, but only for gathering wealth, power," the prince grimaced, "and women…"

"It is settled then," Tywin said, "Return to your land and make the preparations."

Eomer nodded and left leaving Tywin and Jaime alone.

"So what else is in this for you?" Jaime asked, "Merely scouting a potential enemy… that doesn't warrant such an alliance does it?"

Tywin looked at him a moment before indulging in a rare chuckle, "Jaime, princess Eowyn of Rohan is the highest ranking unmarried woman of childbearing age in all of Middle Earth."

Jaime felt a knot form in the pit of his stomach, "And I father?"

Now his father's look was almost predatory, "The highest ranking unmarried man of course."


	38. XXXVIII The Hound

**XXXVIII**

 **The Hound**

Sandor Clegane had never been the sort of man to make friends, but he now found himself with several. Farmer Maggot had taken a liking to him after he and Smallburrow had arrived in Eastfarthing to look for his crop thieves, though they hadn't yet found the culprits the old farmer had offered them a roof and a bed whenever they'd wanted.

"It's high time we had some law with a bit of teeth around here," the old hobbit said, "Those fat louts in Michael Delving don't know what it's like living out here in the borderlands!" Maggot gestured to the Clegane hounds embroidered on his shoulder, "I've got three dogs of my own for that very reason!"

Then there was Robin Smallburrow of course, the hobbit had proven quite adept at swordplay and the two of them sparred frequently. His only annoyance was that Smallburrow still viewed fighting almost like a game, he left the inn where he'd been questioning people to see his fellow Shirriff pirouetting about slashing at the air in front of a pair of giggling hobbit women.

"And then I'd put it right through their foul throats like this!" He thrust at nothing, "Then I'd say, drink my steel orc! That's my sword's name you see, Drink."

"Why bother telling a dead foe anything?" His voice startled the hobbit and the two young ladies gasped at his burns. A few months ago he might've given them a cruel grin and sent them running, but now he just rolled his eyes.

"Why if it isn't Ser Clegane!" Smallburrow said with a smile, "Come! Perhaps we could give these two a swordplay demonstration?"

"I don't feel like fetching the practice swords, unless your friends there are the ones who've been stealing carrots we can talk with them later." He looked at the sun, which was now almost below the horizon, "The crop thieves are striking mostly at night, it's warm enough that we can stay out in the fields and perhaps luck across them. Let's finish up here and head back to Maggot's farm."

Smallburrow sighed and bid the ladies farewell, "So did you learn anything?"

"Only that the "man sized rooms" in Eastfarthing don't have man sized beds," Clegane growled.

"That's because men don't dwell in the Shire," a new voice called. He and smallburrow turned to see it's source standing a little further down the street. He was a man like Clegane, one of the few other men tall enough to meet his gaze without looking up. "Even less common here are swords in hand, for men or hobbits," he said looking down at Smallburrow. Clegane could see him well now, he wore a dark green cloak and a hood, he appeared to be in his forties with shaggy dark hair and grey eyes. "You must be Ser Clegane."

"My good looks give me away I suppose," Clegane said, "And who're you stranger?"

"You can call me Strider, of the Dunedain. I've business with you Ser knight, is there some place we can talk?" The man, Strider, looked to Smallburrow briefly, "Preferably in private…"

"Now hold on a minute, what've you got to say to him you can't say to me?" Smallburrow asked indignantly.

Clegane was suspicious too, Strider was clearly a man who knew his way around a blade, _Have the rangers sent him to chase me out?_ He wondered.

As if reading his thoughts the ranger spoke, "I have questions about how you came to be here, if you satisfy them I will trouble you no more."

He considered this, "Fair enough, let's go up to my room."

"What about me then?" Smallburrow asked.

Clegane shrugged, "Go show those ladies some more of your swordplay."

The two men went back into the inn and up to the room he'd rented the night before. His eyebrows rose a bit when Strider moved to lock the door and checked for peepholes and even tapped a few of the walls. Seemingly satisfied he nodded and sat down at the small table across from him.

"I heard you came here with a lordling in search of a ring," Strider began, "How did you come to know of it? Of the Shire?"

Sandor shrugged, "The little brat Joffrey claimed he had a vision or a dream or some such nonsense, said someone named Sauron wanted him to come here and bring his ring back. The king seemed to think a _Baggins_ had it." He could tell his words unnerved the ranger, and he stopped, "You all right mate?" he asked.

"He knows where the Shire is…" The ranger muttered, "Why have you stayed?" He asked suddenly, "Are you searching for it?" His voice grew harsh, "Do not lie to me Ser Clegane!"

He felt his hand drift toward his sword, "Don't call me Ser, I'm not a knight," he growled, "And I'm not after any rings, fuck all that nonsense."

The ranger was quiet a moment, "I believe you," he said, "but that doesn't explain why you're still here, why haven't you gone home?"

"I like it here," he said defensively, "There aren't a lot of places in the world like this and…" he sighed, "Truth be told I'm worried that one day a band of bad men in service to some lord or another are going to come and rip it apart for no other reason than that they can."

"The rangers guard the Shire, you needn't worry," Strider assured him.

"Even so hobbits are a bandits dream, they're small, they're rich, and none of them has ever held a weapon before." He pulled a wineskin from his belt and took a drink, "You'd best believe that at some point someone will come for them that's too strong for a few hundred woodsmen to throw back, especially if more people show up here looking for magic rings."

Strider was quiet a moment, lost in thought, "I've made arrangements with the one who holds it, there will be no more magic rings in the Shire soon enough…" He stroked his chin, "So you'd arm the hobbits then? I see you've taught that Shirriff some swordplay, but we both know it won't do him much good if the scenario you're suggesting comes to pass."

"If they formed a real militia, maybe built some fortifications on their borders-" Clegane started.

"Wouldn't that ruin their innocence Clegane?" Strider asked, "That's what you love about this place isn't it? That it's nothing like the land you came from?"

"I'd rather see a fort on the Brandywine than the Shire in flames," Clegane replied sourly.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door and he heard Smallburrow's excited voice, "Clegane! One of Maggot's boys just came and said they're missing some potatoes! The tracks are fresh!"

Clegane smiled, "If you'll excuse me mister Strider my duties call." He thought a moment, "I don't suppose you'd be interested in coming with us? It'll be dark and I'm not the best tracker."

Strider cocked an eyebrow, "Your sigil is a trio of hounds and you can't track in the dark?"

"I'm not that kind of dog," Clegane said, annoyed, "Are you going to help or not?"

Strider stood up, "I suppose there's no harm in it, lead on."

About twenty minutes later He, Strider, and Smallburrow were on the edge of Maggot's farm following a pair of footprints leading towards the road, he and the hobbit were mounted while Strider just led his horse, reins in hand, and a torch in the other.

"They're walking side to side, and they're definitely hobbits," Strider said, he pointed to a carrot discarded by the side of the road, "They took more than they could carry…" He raised a hand suddenly and looked to a small copse of trees by the side of the road. "You two can come out of there on your own or we can drag you out by your ankles!"

"You'll never catch us!" A high voice came back, one Clegane recognized.

"Pippin Took if you come out of there now you've got to pay for the crops, if I've got to go to your house tomorrow morning I'm going to beat your arse black and blue," He yelled. Smallburrow chuckled and he turned to the hobbit, "I'm serious I'll do it, those little bastards have had us out here for a week now."

The two hobbits trudged out of the forest angrily, Merry was with Pippin as Clegane had suspected, the two were rarely apart. They each dumped an armload of vegetables before the trio and glared sourly at the shirriffs.

"What now?" Merry muttered.

"Well I suppose you two will need to pay Maggot back for starters," Smallburrow said, "Probably some kind of apology too."

"Down in the Westerlands we tie crop thieves up in the town square and throw rubbish at them," Clegane said suddenly, "That'll teach those two not to do it again-"

"Surely that's a bit much Ser Clegane," Strider began but he was cut off by a loud horn from somewhere to the East.

"Now who the hell's blowing a horn in the middle of the night?" Clegane asked.

"That's a ranger horn!" Strider said suddenly, "The Brandywine Bridge!" The horn blew twice more, "It's under attack!"

A rider appeared out of the darkness on the road, Clegane recognized the man as one of the rangers that had accompanied Daven and his party into the shire. He was slumped over on horse, an arrow sticking out of his shoulder and a great grisly bite on his flank that bled horribly down his side.

"Strider," the man rasped, "Orcs…" he gave a wet cough.

Strider gripped him, "Arthas! How many?"

"Hundreds… some of them broke through. They're big strider, the biggest orcs and wargs I've ever…" He coughed and his eyes fluttered and he fell from his horse.

"He's finished," Clegane said solemnly, he looked to Strider, "We've got to get to that bridge!"

"No!" Strider yelled, "They're after Frodo Baggins in Hobbiton, my men will retake the bridge, but if some broke through they'll be heading there."  
Smallburrow drew his sword, "Well let's be off then!"

Clegane put his hand on the hobbit's shoulder, "No Robin, take those two," he gestured at Merry and Pippin, "go to Farmer Maggot's and get everyone into the cellar, put out all the lights and by the Seven _keep quiet_. I'll come for you when things are safe."

Smallburrow seemed offended, but the look on Clegane's ruined face scared him into submission, "Fine then… Come on you two!" He led the other hobbits off towards Maggot's farmhouse.

He looked back to Strider, who was closing his friend's eyes for the final time, "Let's be off," the ranger said grimly. The two of them rode as quickly as their horses could take them towards Frogmorton. Strider pointed at a number of large tracks on the road, "At least thirty of them made it through. Perhaps a half hour ahead of us!"

"Too many for the two of us," Clegane mumbled, he could see a fire burning on the horizon. _Frogmorton…_ They rode into the town square where at least a dozen orcs were throwing torches onto the buildings and chasing any poor hobbits that had the misfortune to be in the streets. With a roar he spurred Stranger forward, running down the closest of the beasts and bringing his sword down on it's skull.

He dismounted and saw Strider had approached four of the beasts on the far side of the square. Two of the orcs approached him, unlike the ones he'd seen before these were tall, at least six feet each, with thick sinewy arms. They had fangs like wolves and cruel looking yellow claws that dripped with fresh blood. They had only boiled leather armor on and carried cruel iron swords with a jagged angle at the end of the blade he guessed was made for catching the flank of a horse.

They ran at him and he charged too screaming like a demon. He blocked the first downward slash and shoved the creature into it's comrade, stumbling the one behind it. With a quick motion he stabbed it through the heart causing it to drop with a growl.

Before the other could recover he ran to it and slashed as if to cut it's belly open, but the orc blocked him and pushed his blade up and away from it's torso. _Gods they're strong_ , he thought, he was used to overpowering his opponents but he worried even his strength might not be enough if one of these things got him on the ground. As if reading his mind it rushed forward and tried to grapple with him. Suddenly it's wide maw came down on his shoulder, he heard a snapping noise and looked to see that the thing's teeth had broken on his armor. Taking advantage of it's shock he brought his knee up into it's stomach and then cleaved it's head off as it stumbled away from him.

Panting, he turned to look for Strider, "Ranger!" He called.

"Here!" he turned to see the ranger standing in the midst of four dead orcs.

His eyes widened, "Seven hells man! You're a demon with a blade."

Strider nodded and looked around, "the rest have fled, and more will be on their way to Hobbiton! Hurry!" He ran to his horse and with a single graceful leap landed on it.

Clegane was about to mount Stranger when he noticed something on the orc he'd killed. Painted on the boiled leather armor there was a white hand. He thought back to the wizard Saruman, he had given Joffrey a small wooden badge with a white hand on it as a sigil to present to the men of Dunland. If Saruman had sent the orcs then that meant…

 _"Gods no_ ," he whispered stumbling back, _Joffrey and I led him here._ He looked at the burning town, there were several dead hobbits laying about and screams still echoed through the edge of the settlement. _My fault,_ he thought numbly, _It's all my fault…_

 **A/N: Let's do a few reviews**

 **Weylandcorp4 - He doesn't trust Gandalf because he took Tyrion into hiding and he was already in a bad place regarding Wizards. As far as corralling them into Osgiliath Tywin's army could help Gondor hold it's failing defensive lines, the best tactic is probably to wage a defensive conflict like Gondor did for years. Of course Tywin doesn't quite understand what he's dealing with yet.**

 **Lukas0908 - Eomer's learning to play the game of thrones, whether Tywin will learn the lessons of Middle Earth remains to be seen.**

 **Hotrod - and for that one moment Tywin was a normal happy father... then within an hour he went back to demanding Tyrion's head and planning a slaughter of civilians.**

 **U.N.S. - He might make the likes of the Corsairs or the Haradrim fear him but I'll bet they'd still fear Sauron more.**


	39. XXXIX The Ranger

**XXXIX**

 **The Ranger**

Aragorn had come to the Shire on Gandalf's orders, the creature Gollum had confirmed their suspicions, the One did wait in the Shire and the enemy knew. Gandalf had gone South on other business and bidden him to find the hobbit Frodo Baggins and tell him to leave the Shire. They'd agreed to meet again in Rivendell, Elrond's counsel was needed on this matter. The hobbit had been slow to trust him at first, but eventually Frodo had taken his warning to heart and was making preparations to leave. He'd wanted several months but he'd only given the hobbit a week, in the meantime he'd resolved to investigate rumors that a Westerlands knight was travelling the Shire. After speaking with his rangers about the incident involving the boy king and his bodyguard he'd set out to find the Hound.

Sandor Clegane was not a difficult man to find, the grisly burns on his face were proof enough of his identity, and the Mayor Michael Delving had apparently made him a Shirriff. He'd questioned the man regarding the ring, and whatever intent the boy Joffrey had held towards it Clegane didn't seem to care for anything but enjoying the comforts of the Shire.

Now though, in the midst of this attack he was happy to have the man at his side. They'd driven away the orcs attacking Frogmorton, though a number had fled into the dark and would likely trouble the surrounding lands in the coming days. He mounted his horse and turned to Clegane, who was examining one of the dead orcs silently.

"Ser Clegane!" He yelled, "We must be off!"

"I'm not a knight!" Clegane yelled back angrily, tears were in his eyes suddenly, giving Aragorn pause, "Go without me."

He frowned, "Ser Clegane they have numbers and-"

"Just go!"

He didn't bother questioning the man, there was no time. He rode his horse down the road towards Hobbiton. He passed through Bywater, the Green Dragon was in flames but the rest of the small village seemed completely abandoned. He finally came to Hobbiton, he could hear shouting and he rode towards it.

The orcs, about twenty of them, were standing around Bag End laughing, they'd torched he could see that Frodo was gagged and bound to a warg that was as large as any horse he'd ever seen. From the bruises on his face the hobbit hadn't gone willingly. Riding atop the great wolf and wearing a curved iron helm was an orc that was at least a head taller than him, large enough that it could easily pass for a small troll.

"What do we do with this one?" one of the orcs asked, hauling a fat blond hobbit forward.

"Let me go you beasts!" he yelled struggling.

"He brained Bonesy with a frying pan," the orc said, "Got him as he came around the corner in the house there."

"And I'll do the same for you too you animals!" the hobbit snarled.

The big orc just laughed, "Go get the frying pan and tie him up, we'll roast him up in it later in honor of Bonesy."

Aragorn dismounted and crept close, the orcs threw a lit torch into the hobbit hole and closed the door, another laughed and began lighting the various flowers and bushes in the garden, causing the second hobbit to thrash about angrily.

He sheathed his sword and nocked an arrow, he took a position behind a small hill across the street from Bag End, in the dark it would be impossible for them to see him. He fired a pair of arrows in quick succession taking the orc in the garden and the orc holding the fat hobbit.

"We're under attack!" The leader shouted, causing the orcs to scramble for shields, they formed up a rudimentary wall but he fired another arrow through one of the gaps dropping another orc with a howl. They looked around snarling, "Over there! It's coming from over there!" the mounted orc cried pointing toward his hiding space, at his orders the orcs began rushing towards him. Realizing the element of surprise was lost he loosed another pair of arrows before drawing his sword and rushing forward out of the darkness.

He could see behind the surging wall of orcs that the leader was turning as if to leave, _I'll never catch him if he leaves now,_ he thought. He blocked the first approaching strikes, he was forced to continually step backwards or let the orcs surround him. _It's finished_ , he thought angrily, _they've got Frodo-_

"GREGOR!" An enraged voice filled the air causing both the ranger and the orcs to suddenly pause, he turned to see a figure blocking the great orc's path on the road. Sandor Clegane had replaced the Shirriff's cap he'd worn earlier with a helm in the shape of a cruel snarling dog. In the dancing light of the burning hobbit hole the burns on his face made him look like an angry demon. "Gregor you bastard, take off that helm, even someone as stupid as you knows better than to bother with a disguise at that size."

The orc leader laughed and pulled off his helmet and dropped it to the earth where it fell with a clanging noise, "You have me confused for someone else little human." The orc had red and black pocked skin, with a great greasy tail of hair going down the back of it's head. "I am called Lurtz," he dismounted and drew his own sword, stooping to pick up one of the torches that his orcs had dropped as Aragorn had attacked them. "It seems little runt that someone has only cooked your face halfway, come here and allow me to even it out for you." Aragorn could see a mix of emotions on Gregor's face, shock, fear, and… disappointment?

"As big as him and as much of a cunt, come and die then," the Hound responded, drawing his sword. The orc rushed forward swinging the torch wildly, Sandor gave a startled gasp and began to stumble backwards, only raising his sword to block Lurtz's strikes.

This seemed to rally the other orcs who again ran towards him laughing cruelly. One by one he cut them down, each one forcing him further from the road until he could only distantly hear the fight between Lurtz and Clegane. Finally only two were left, they desperately tried to come at him from two sides but he pulled a knife from his belt and threw it into one's chest while he smoothly cut the other's arm off and then gave it a killing blow across the midsection. He pulled his dagger out of the dead foe with a wet sucking sound and ran back towards the road to see Clegane still fighting.

He first looked to Frodo, he was still tied to the warg's side, he ran down the hill towards the beast which looked at him with a snarl and ran toward Cleganes own mount, biting at it's legs. The great black courser reared up with an indignant grunt and brought both of it's iron shoed hooves down on the Warg's head, continuing to strike the beast until nothing remained but bloody pulp. He looked at the beast in surprise but it only gave him an angry snort.

He turned back to Clegane, the orc was striking wide and wild now, laughing madly. Suddenly Clegane pivoted into the orc's strike with the torch, his arm caught fire and he screamed wildly, but now inside the orc's defenses he cut Lurtz from shoulder to breastbone. Lurtz dropped with a scream. Flames still on his arm he brought the sword down again and cleaved the creatures head in two.

Clegane then began to scream in fear in pain, slapping madly at his burning arm. Aragorn rushed forward, ripping off his cloak. He brought it down forcefully, smothering the remaining flames. The two of them just panted a moment, surveying the still burning Bag End.

"Where're the rest?" Clegane rasped.

"I killed them all," he replied, "most of them are over there," he gestured to the hill where he'd hidden.

Clegane nodded, "I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen your work back in Frogmorton."

The two of them walked over to Frodo, pulling his knife again Aragorn cut the hobbit free and pulled the gag from his mouth.

"Sam!" Frodo said suddenly, "did anyone see where Sam got to!"

"I'm over here mister Frodo!" the other hobbit called from behind one of the unburnt trees, he stepped out, another frying pan in hand. "These two, Can we trust them?"

"They just saved us, so I think so," Frodo replied sadly as he watched the flames consume Bag-End.

"Is… is it safe?" Aragorn asked quietly.

Frodo pulled an unimpressive golden band from his pocket, "It is."

"That's the ring isn't it?" Clegane asked solemnly, "The one everyone's after…"

"It is," Aragorn said, "we've got to get it to Rivendell."

"What manner of thing is it?" The Hound asked angrily, "I hear a foul voice in my head… Put it away, put it away now!"

Frodo quickly obliged him, "Will you take me to the elves then Strider?"

Frodo asked, a crash was heard as a beam inside bag end fell, "There's not much need for preparations now."

"Well I'm coming with you," the other hobbit, Sam, said, "sheathing" his frying pan. "You'll need an extra set of eyes if there's more of them after you." Sam smiled a little, "Besides, I've always wanted to see elves!"

"This is no holiday," Aragorn said, "This?" he pointed to the burning hobbit hole, "There's going to be a lot more of it if things go badly."

"Sam's already killed an orc," Frodo said suddenly, "when word came that there was trouble he came right away to see if I was safe! If it weren't for him you might not have gotten to me in time."

 _He could use a loyal friend for the journey,_ he thought, "Come then Samwise, you'll ride with us to Rivendell." He thought a moment, "And you Ser Clegane? You've seen the horrors that this ring brings, will you not help take it somewhere safe?"

"I've got a debt to be repaid here," Clegane said sadly, "This… this is all my doing."

Realizing what he meant Aragorn searched for the words needed to console the man, "They would have found the Shire eventually in any case Clegane, and by stopping them from getting that ring you've saved thousands, tens of thousands."

Clegane sighed sadly, "I will accompany you to Rivendell but no further. We need to go by Maggot's farm first though, I've got a few things I need to tell Smallburrow." A grim determination set across his face, "I'm not letting this happen again…"

A pair of ponies were procured for Sam and Frodo and the small party was off toward's Maggot's farm. The sun was beginning to come up again over the horizon and with the excitement over the pair of hobbits looked as though they might fall asleep in the saddle. Clegane looked weary, but Aragorn could tell he would not be sleeping anytime soon, he felt a tiredness beginning to set into his own bones.

They'd stopped alongside the road to sleep before they all collapsed, he and Clegane took turns taking watch and they built no fire. Some hours later in the light of day they continued to Maggot's farm. One of the barns had been burnt, but the main house seemed intact. Clegane dismounted and knocked on the door.

"Maggot!" He called, "Smallburrow! Are you here?"

"Back here!" The shirriff called, the party followed around back to see Merry and Pippin digging a great hole while Smallburrow and Maggot watched. A trio of dead orcs lay next to the hole.

"I thought I told you to hide in the basement," Clegane scowled.

"Nuts to that, that's what I told him," Maggot said, shaking a pitchfork. "I got the dogs n' the boys and we met 'em out by the old barn," he pointed to the burned structure, "They were killing my cows so we locked the lot of them in there and torched it ourselves." He gestured to Smallburrow, "He fought one like he was an elven hero or something, stabbed it right through the heart."

"I got one that came out of the window with a good sized rock," Merry said proudly from inside the hole.

"That's true," Pippin cut in, "Caught it right on the forehead!"

"Back to work you two!" Maggot barked, he laughed seeing Aragorn and Clegane's expressions, "They're still working off those crops, orcs or no… and my father always told me hard work purifies the soul in any case."

Clegane laughed a little, "Smallburrow… my gold's back at the Inn, I need you to take it and begin making some preparations for when I come back."

"Come back?" the Shirriff asked surprised, "Where're you going to?"

"I'm making the Shire safer, just know that," he said firmly, "Take the gold and do whatever rebuilding can be done with it… then speak to Whitfoot about building fortifications on the Brandywine. The bridge needs at least a gate, probably something more for Sarn Ford…"

"What's all this about?" Smallburrow asked suddenly, "Orcs in the Shire? it's madness!"

"We'll discuss it on my return," Clegane said. He paused a moment and smiled, "So you killed one… good work. Was there any time for any taunts or battle cries?"

Smallburrow shuddered, "No, no there wasn't. It all happened so quickly…"

"Take a drink before bed tonight, else you'll just toss and turn," Clegane said.

"Do you have any other business here?" Aragorn asked.

"No," the Hound replied, "Let's get going…"

They moved down the road towards the Brandywine Bridge silently. The quiet was broken by the clattering of approaching hooves. Aragorn looked to Clegane who nodded, the two of them drew their swords and turned to see who was coming. They both relaxed upon seeing Merry and Pippin riding up to them on a pair of ponies.

"What are you two doing here?" Aragorn asked with a smile.

"We're going with Frodo and Sam," Merry said quickly, "It's important to stay close to your friends in times like these."

Clegane snorted, "Maggot wanted you two to do more work didn't he?"

"The man has a vastly inflated idea of what a carrot is worth!" Pippin said, "He said we'd be working on his farm all Summer!"

"You know the Tooks Frodo," Merry said, "His family will make him do it!"

"Probably the Brandybucks too I reckon," Sam said with a grin.

Clegane looked them over, "Well what do you think?" he asked Aragorn.

"Friendship is a rare commodity in the best of times," He replied smiling, "Come then, I doubt I could stop you two from coming if I tried..."

"Damn right!" the two of them said in unison.

Clegane rolled his eyes, "Fine, let's get a move on then…" he paused, "Did you two steal those ponies from Farmer Maggot too?"

They looked at the ground uncomfortably causing Frodo to burst out laughing, "When we come back you two are going to be working on his farm until you're old and grey!"

 _His friends already help lighten the burden_ Aragorn thought, _Perhaps these two will have some use after all._

 **A/N: All right you guys know the drill by now...**

Hotrod 333 - The Lannisters probably won't have large scale contact with elves like the other people's of middle earth did, but Cersei would probably have a freakout over Galadriel's existence since that's a younger prettier queen that never ages and has magic powers. Jaime would probably be a little annoyed with the elves since they're great warriors but unlike the Gondorians they don't have any knightly tradition and trappings of sportsmanship when they fight. Tywin would just be glad they're leaving.

Cyricist0100 - Tywin wouldn't have a problem with using some... esoteric weapons. As for giving Mordor all the goodies most magic out of ASOIAF is not the kind of stuff the good guys would freely use. At least they've got some Valyrian steel though right?

Lukas0908 - The biggest problem is Mirkwood and Erebor are pretty far away and they can't exactly march south because Sauron sent armies against them too... then again with the Lannisters now pretty firmly in the anti-Mordor camp maybe those armies will be rerouted.


	40. XL The Imp

**XL**

 **The Imp**

They arrived in Edoras in the middle of the day, it was a small city by Westerosi standards, more fit to be some lord's seat than a capital of a nation. In some respects it reminded him of Winterfell, if with wooden palisades instead of high stone walls. The countryside itself was more impressive, Edoras sat atop one of the first hills coming off the plains, just before they turned into the great snow-capped White Mountains. A small spring bubbled by the main road leading up to the King's great hall, and Tyrion noted with approval that though some people came to gather water none were emptying chamberpots or rubbish bins into it.

After a short walk they came to the highest point of the city where a great hall stood. At first Tyrion thought it's rooftop was painted gold or perhaps even gold plated, but as they got closer he realized it was actually made out of straw.

"What manner of king thatches his roof like a peasant?" Tyrion asked.

"Not all noble houses draw their strength from gold Tyrion Lannister," Gandalf replied, "Rohan lives and dies by the horse and the beasts of the field." He smiled as the sun glinted off a patch of straw, "In days of old the lords of Rohan would send straw here as a sign of fealty and it was used thatching the roof of the golden hall of Medusheld."

A pair of guards ushered them into the great hall, fire pits flanked the entryway and Tyrion guessed this was a hall meant more for hosting guests than impressing them. At the end of the room sat an empty wooden throne carved with a number of horse motifs and what looked to be a shining sun on the back. Next to it was a small bench, on it sat a pale man with dark greasy hair. He wore a hooded black robe that struck Tyrion as being out of place among the rest of the Rohirrim, and he seemed nervous even here in the heart of the city.

"I see that Gandalf Greyhame has again come to trouble our halls," the man said, standing up. He looked to Tyrion, "Along with the usual hangers on…"  
Before Gandalf could reply Tyrion cut in, "I'm sorry but I can't say I've had the pleasure Lord…?"

Grima arched an eyebrow, "At least this one shows proper respect. I am Grima, son of Galmod, advisor to the king. What is your name Halfling?"

Tyrion thought about making up a fake identity but decided he didn't care to, "I am Tyrion Lannister, son of Tywin Lannister, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands."

"And what brings a foreign princeling to this court?" Grima asked, "The king's nephew, prince Eomer, left some time ago to meet with your father, but it seems strange that a response could come so quickly."

"Enough of your questions," Gandalf bellowed, "Where is Theoden? Where is the king?"

"He is ill!" Grima snapped, "I will not allow you to trouble him while he rests."

"We have need of horses Grima, the business is urgent," Gandalf said exasperated, "If you will not grant them I will speak to Theoden regardless of your protests."

"If I may," Tyrion cut in, "It seems that we have a mutual problem Lord Grima,"

"And that is?" Grima asked curiously.

"We have a need to get out of Edoras as soon as possible, while you have a need to get us out of Edoras as soon as possible, surely simply giving the Wizard and I some horses would be the best course for all parties?"

Gandalf and Grima were silent for a moment, looking at him as though he'd interrupted something more important than a mere quarrel.

Finally Grima spoke, "Go then, take any horse of Rohan you desire, but know that selection is wanting, for Theodred took the Riddermark to battle two days past."

"What?" Gandalf exclaimed, "Why? What foes move against Rohan?"

"A host of Goblins has marched out of the misty mountains, my spies indicate that they are perhaps five to ten thousand at most, but they move to the Fords of Isen which cannot be allowed to fall into enemy hands."

"What of Saruman the White? Has he done nothing about this threat?" Gandalf asked angrily.

"Saruman told us of their movements of course," Grima replied, "and without his warning these goblins could have been upon Rohan before Theodred had a chance to muster his men." Grima gave him a smug smile, "Saruman may have saved Rohan with this information."

"We will see," Gandalf said grimly, "I will go to search for a suitable mount then, the situation has grown more dire than I thought…" He turned to Grima, "Will you house my traveling companion until such a time as I can return for him?"

"I will house no friend of yours wizard," Grima spat.

 _What is the fool thinking?_ Tyrion thought, _He'd leave me alone in a city of strangers?_ Still he played along, "Well I take up little space and Tywin Lannister might look fondly upon someone who housed his son…" _With any luck Gandalf will be back before he finds out why I'm on the road,_ "And besides you strike me as a well-read sort Lord Grima, I could use some intelligent conversation after so long on the road."

Grima chuckled slightly and Gandalf just glared at him, "Very well Lord Tyrion," Grima said, "I see no reason you could not stay for a short time, perhaps you will come to realize the folly of traveling with a Wizard."

"Truthfully I think I already have," Tyrion said, shooting a quick look at Gandalf, when he was sure Grima couldn't see he gave the Wizard a quick wink, if the Wizard saw he hid it.

"Very well Tyrion Lannister," Gandalf said angrily, "Stay here and rot with Grima Wormtongue then," He stormed out.

"I'll see him out of Edoras," Tyrion said, "He still has a few of my things I need to collect."

"By all means," Grima said smiling, "if he refuses to cooperate feel free to summon the city guard, tell them I have ordered it." He followed the Wizard out and the false anger between them evaporated as soon as the gate closed.

"So why do you want me to stay here?" Tyrion asked.

"Traveling the gap of Rohan is likely to be a much more harrowing journey than I had originally thought," Gandalf said grimly, "I have long suspected Saruman, the head of my order, of… something. I am not entirely sure what, but I will go and find out. This army of goblins is troubling as well… but if Theodred has ridden to meet them I have no doubts he can disperse them." They began walking towards the exit of the city, "I know that in the fields of Edoras there is one of the great horses of the line of Nahor, chief of the Maeras. I will seek him out to serve as my mount."

"I'm afraid those names mean little to me," Tyrion said, "So what am I supposed to do here?" he asked, "Sooner or later word will reach Edoras that my family is looking for me, I've no doubt my father will put a reward on my head."

"You're a clever sort Tyrion Lannister," the Wizard replied, "By the time such a message has arrived I am sure you can ingratiate yourself with the locals."

"Are you going to give me some gold at least?" Tyrion asked.

Gandalf sighed and took a small purse from his belt, "Faramir told me your brother left this as payment for me, I didn't ask for it nor do I need it. It's your family's gold in any case." He handed it to Tyrion and smiled, "Besides where would a Lannister be without his gold?"

Tyrion weighed it in his hand and frowned, "Not much further than where he is now, you're sure there's not any more?"

Gandalf chuckled, "I'm afraid not, but men's loyalty is bought with more than gold, perhaps you'll learn that." He paused a moment, "A man like you might do a great deal of good here, if you set your mind to it."

"With barely enough gold to pay a stableboy? In a city with no friends except the man I'm guessing you want me to work against? You think too highly of me."

"I've been pleasantly surprised by small folk before," Gandalf said smiling. "Take care Tyrion Lannister." He walked to the gates of the great city then stopped, looking back at him, "Tyrion… if there is one more thing I'd ask of you it would be that you find it in you to make amends with your brother."

Tyrion sighed and clenched his fists, "Gandalf… I'm not strong enough to do that."

Gandalf considered this, "I had the opportunity to read the Seven Pointed Star while in your lands. Most of it was… odd, to say the least, but there is one passage I've grown fond of. When the weight of the world all but crushes you, do not pray for a lighter burden. Pray to be a stronger man." With that the Wizard was gone.

 _A stronger man,_ he thought as he walked back up to the hall, _I'm not so strong a man to begin with…_ He walked into the hall and saw that Grima was gone.

One of the guards approached him, "Lord Tyrion, by order of Lord Grima you are to be given full use of the Golden Hall as a guest of the king."  
Tyrion nodded, "All well and good, do you know where I could find something to drink?"

"I will send for a mug of mead for you," the guard said.

"That will do, thanks," he replied. He would have preferred wine, but he supposed mead would get him just as drunk.

He found his way to the lounge areas on the sides of the great hall, a woman was seated at one of them, and since that fire was already lit he decided he would join her.

"Do you mind?" he gestured to a seat across the fire from her. He could see now she was a true beauty, with long blonde hair and a kind face. Her eyes were red, as though she'd been crying recently.

"No," She said with a sniff, "It's bad for the soul to drink alone in any case."

 _I can attest to that,_ he thought, "What is wrong my lady? Is there anything I can do?"

"No Tyrion Lannister, there isn't," she said sadly.

"You know my name?" He asked, surprised.

She smiled now, blinking most of the remaining tears away, "I am Eowyn, lady of Rohan, it is my duty to know of all guests that are to stay in my uncle's hall."

"Consider the duty fulfilled," he said as a servant brought him a drink, "Your hospitality is above and beyond what I deserve… may I ask what has upset you so?"

"My uncle the king… he grows worse every day, today he could not even rise from his bed," she said. "Grima… he feuds with my brother and my cousin, I worry for the future of Rohan."

Tyrion nodded, "You are a noble lady indeed to worry for her people so, what do you think must be done?"

She sighed and looked into her cup, "It is not my place to say… My brother has gone to meet with your father, and my cousin goes east to fight the orcs. Grima will have sway here only until either of them returns."

 _Until either of them returns…_ "Lady Eowyn," he asked suddenly, "The men your brother took, are they… loyal?"

"They are," she said, unsure of what he meant, "All men of Rohan are loyal."

"But some are more loyal than others, aren't they?" Tyrion said, "Surely some lords of Rohan side more with Grima than with Theodred or Eomer when quarrels occur?"

She nodded slowly, "This is true…"

"And which group rode out with your cousin?" He asked before taking a long drink.

"Mostly it was those who support Theodred… but why wouldn't he take those men most loyal to him? I am not sure what you are implying here Lord Tyrion."

"When an enemy army marches on the land even disloyal lords send a token force, no man benefits from seeing his country overrun," Tyrion said, "Unless there is something else afoot."

"You suspect Grima of treason?" the princess asked, shocked, "That's impossible! Even he would never-"

"I suspect him of nothing in particular," he replied, "I only notice that some things seem amiss in his actions. Tell me, do you have men loyal to you here? Men who will follow your orders and not those of any other in Edoras?"

She shook her head, "I have had no need for guards beyond those my father already employs for the hall… do you think there is need for more?"

 _This one could learn a thing or two from Cersei,_ he thought, "You are fair to behold and you clearly care for your people, I've no doubt they will take care of you in turn. If you'll excuse me..." His cup was almost empty now, and he got up to leave.

"Lord Tyrion," she called, giving him pause, "Please stay a moment." He obliged her and sat back down.

"How may I be of service?" he asked.

She put her own cup down, "I am a shield maiden of Rohan… I will gladly fight any enemy for her… but now I fear the enemy is within. This is not a battle fought with a sword or shield, your words have made me realize this." She sighed, "I do not know what games Grima plays, nor does my brother or my cousin Theodred, it seems you do."

He shrugged, "I've seen it played enough to know it when I see it, yes."  
"I am loathe to ask for aid but… please, help us in this," Eowyn asked, she spoke with sincerity he hadn't heard in years.

 _A man like you might do a great deal of good here,_ the Wizard's words echoed in his mind, he laughed suddenly, "I am in your service then, I'll take payment in wine if you've got it." He thought a moment, "If we're going to play the game of thrones against Grima we'll need some muscle, are there any men friendly to your family left in Edoras?"

She shook her head, "They have all ridden with Theodred to war, I am fair with a blade though-"

"No," Tyrion said, "If it were merely a matter of killing I could do it myself with a dagger in the night… we need a careful mix of intimidation and controlled violence." He thought a moment, "Did a maester come from my father?"

"Yes, he brought several of the messenger birds and he's been at work healing the sick and treating the wounded when needed. He's become quite beloved by the people."

Tyrion smiled, "I think I know where we can get the men we need. Lead me to where he's keeping these ravens."

He followed her outside to a small wooden structure a little ways down the street from Medusheld, "Here," she said pushing the door open. The maester was gone, which suited Tyrion's purposes anyways.

The ravens were roosted by which city they were trained to fly to. He saw several for Casterly Rock, two for the Banefort… and one for Minas Tirith. He smiled and grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill.

"Who are you writing to?" Eowyn asked.

"A friend of mine," he replied, "I just hope he hasn't left Minas Tirith already."

 _Dear Bronn…_ he wrote, _I have found myself in a position where your services are again needed._ He paused a moment looking at Eowyn, _Rest assured I've also found myself in a position where I am able to pay for said services._ He left a few other instructions before tying the scroll to the raven and releasing it. The two of them stepped outside the building and watched the bird disappear into the sky.

"What do we do now?" Eowyn asked.

Tyrion shrugged, "I suppose we have a drink."


	41. XLI The Old Lion

**XLI**

 **The Old Lion**

It had taken several days of argument and deliberation but Tywin had finally settled on a plan of action. According to Jaime the steward's sons believed that Mordor was amassing it's troops in Minas Morgul for an imminent attack on Gondor. When the attack came he would reinforce the Gondorian lines with his own men and after the force of Mordor was broken he would march on Minas Morgul and burn it down to ashes. He'd sent ravens to Dol Amroth to tell them of his approach, as well as to Minas Tirith. The march had been uneventful, the lands of Western Gondor were mostly small holdfasts and homesteads, after several weeks of marching they came to a shining city on the sea.

He was holding his war council in the central palace of Dol Amroth now. It was a much more mixed group than it normally was, Imrahil, prince of Dol Amroth, sat on his left, he was a tall broad shouldered man with handsome features and a serious demeanor. He'd welcomed Tywin's host and allowed the use of the palace for their meeting.

On his right was Jaime, in addition to returning alive Jaime had also shocked him by returning with the Valyrian steel sword Brightroar. After the initial shock had passed he'd questioned his son, and found that Cersei had taken it from Gerion's ship in the initial aftermath of the Arrival. He wasn't sure how he felt about this, on the one hand he was happy to have the sword back, and he'd heard it had served Jaime well in Minas Tirith. On the other hand it indicated that there were those in Casterly Rock who would keep secrets from him on orders from Cersei… someday that would need to be addressed.

Several others were present as well, Timett, the leader of the Burned Men and now of all the mountain clans, had answered his call to arms. He and his men acted as scouts and foragers for the army, and he'd quickly found a place in the Lannister war councils in spite of the protests from some of the higher ranking lords, not only because of his low birth but because of his burned eyesocket, which he insisted on leaving uncovered. Tywin had heard that the Burned Men had a peculiar rite of passage which involved burning off a chosen body part, Timett had evidently chosen his eye which had greatly impressed his tribe. The story quickly spread throughout the camp and this, combined with his cold demeanor, meant that Timett now commanded fear and respect from most men. This had intrigued Tywin, and he wondered if Timett would perhaps fill certain roles now that Gregor Clegane was dead… he would have to see how the clansman performed during the war to come.

Then there were the usual bannermen, Lord Lefford of the Golden Tooth, Lord Marbrand of Ashemark and his son Addam, who had been awaiting the army in Dol Amroth as a guest of Imrahil, and Lord Brax of Hornvale. Directly across from him was his brother Kevan, lord of nothing but respected all the same. Lord Roland Crakehall was absent, having remained in Crakehall to organize the fleet for war.

"Now that everyone has arrived," He began, "I believe it would be prudent to go over our strategy for the coming conflict." He pointed to Minas Morgul, "With the forces being gathered here I believe that Sauron intends to make a move against the city of Minas Tirith. Jaime?"

His son nodded and stood up, "While in Minas Morgul Tyrion saw at least fifty thousand soldiers were present, most of them orcs, but with a substantial number of men from Rhun," he pointed to a land North of Mordor, "And Harad," he pointed to the south.

"What of these orcs?" Lord Brax asked, "I've heard they're nothing like men, that they're beasts that feel no fear and cannot break."

"They can certainly be broken," Imrahil said, "it is simply done in a different manner than against a mannish foe."

"I agree," the younger Marbrand cut in, "When Jaime and I faced them they held against our charge and even where a similar force of men might've broken they held, but when it became clear we did not fear them and would not flee ourselves, that was when they fell apart in earnest."

The lords murmured and Tywin continued, "Fighting from within the fortifications on the Anduin and alongside men from Gondor I have every confidence that victory will be ours." He paused, looking around the room. Seeing the nodding heads he pointed to Minas Morgul, "This is the nearest major city to the Gondorian border, depending on the state of their forces following the battle I believe we can pursue them back and lay siege to Minas Morgul and raze the city before they can call for help."

The Westerlands lords were grinning now, but Imrahil scoffed, "That is folly Lord Tywin, forgive me but there is no chance that even our combined armies could hope to raze Minas Morgul."

Tywin frowned, "These orcs are numerous, but weak. I've seen their bodies myself, surely every man is worth twice-"

"Orcs are not what worries me," Imrahil replied, "Those are cursed lands, the nine themselves inhabit that place…" he shuddered, "I have glimpsed it once from afar, no weapon of man will break those walls." The room was silent at this, Tywin's lords were unused to seeing any disagree with him, Timett, always quiet, simply stared at the map with his good eye, stroking his chin.

"What would you suggest then, Prince Imrahil?" Tywin growled.

Imrahil thought a moment, "The first part of your plan is good, whatever the forces of Mordor are planning you will likely catch them unawares and even Sauron himself might pause seeing the free peoples united against him." He moved a small token representing a ship from Crakehall to Dol Amroth, "If our armies and fleets are combined we might blockade Umbar," he moved the ships to the mouth of the bay the city of the Corsairs sat in. "Then we can retake South Gondor and hold the forces of Harad at the Harad Road crossing."

Tywin's eyes narrowed, "I am not interested in reconquering Gondor's lost territory, merely in delivering a blow to Mordor that it will not soon forget."  
Imrahil shrugged, "I have told you the best way to do so. If you insist on a foolish attack on Minas Morgul I cannot promise the men of Gondor will march with you."

The room erupted in argument, Tywin was about to yell for quiet when a loud *thud* broke through the noise. Everyone silently looked to see that Timett had planted his axe in the table, notably cutting through the map right where the borders of Mordor began.

"You Andals argue that we should take this road, or that road, but you have not yet taken the first step that would put you to where you could make that choice." He pulled the axe free of the table with a creaking sound, putting it back in a loop on his belt, "Timett son of Timett will ride with the lions, they have given his people much and much shall Timett give in return… but he will bear no more of this pointless arguing."

They were quiet a moment before Kevan spoke, "There is some wisdom in the savage's words, either target will have to wait until we have defeated Sauron in the field, and we have no idea what his response might be to this defeat. If he truly has hundreds of thousands of orcs in reserve-"

"He does," Imrahil said firmly, "Though I believe he can only bring so many to bear in any one place."

Tywin fumed a moment, _Kevan has always been afraid to take risks, but if Sauron's forces truly are so large…_ "We will see what the response is after we have met his army," he said suddenly, "If our scouts see movement out of Mordor we will hold a defensive perimeter, if Sauron cowers in fear we shall take his lands." This seemed agreeable to everyone and after some more discussion regarding food supplies, almost a non-issue with winters being so short in Middle Earth, they began to leave.

"Timett," he called as the assembled lords stood up, "stay a moment, I have words regarding your… conduct." The lords all looked at Timett a moment before leaving the room. Once they were alone he spoke again, "Know that I do not wholly disapprove of your actions today, but certain appearances must be maintained."

Timmet gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod, "The lion must lead, Timett knows this."

 _Perceptive for a savage,_ Tywin thought, "Tell me, how have your people taken to the mountains around the Tooth?"

"Compared to what the Arryns left for us what we have been given is bountiful," Timmet said, "There is much game for hunting and what plants we do grow have been found in abundance."

"And wives for your men?" Tywin asked, "Few of your womenfolk were with us in the Arrival."

"We have found women who will live with us," Timmet replied, "Some come from among you Andals, and Gondor seems to have many widows who have come to us as well." He paused, "Timmet has found a new wife from among them. She carries his child."

"I offer my congratulations," Tywin replied, though he could tell the mountain man did not care much for them, "What I have wondered is whether your people might need a true holding to call their own, you see the Cleganes have proven themselves unfaithful stewards-"

"The Burned Men belong to the mountains," Timett said forcefully, "and Timett son of Timett belongs to the Burned Men."

"Very well then, you are dismissed" Tywin said, keeping the disappointment from his voice, _At least they'll never rise against House Lannister… and with them in the hills neither will House Lefford._ He walked to a set of a rooms that had been offered for the noble's use, Jaime was waiting for him, leaning against a wall with Brightroar across his back.

"I do wish you would let me send that sword back to the Rock," Tywin commented, "To what do I owe the pleasure of my son's company?"

"I want to talk about Tyrion," Jaime said, stepping away from the wall.

"He is a traitor. He tried to kill you Jaime, what more needs to be said about this?" He moved to go into his room but Jaime followed him.

"He wasn't himself," Jaime insisted, "that ring, it poisoned his mind."

"Did it now?" Tywin asked, "Are you sure it was not his hatred for his family finally spilling over?"

Jaime was silent a moment, but then, "He knows about Tysha."

"His first whore?" Tywin chuckled, "What of it?"

"She wasn't a whore…" Jaime said quietly, "What would you do to any who would take mother from you?"

"He DID take your mother from me!" Tywin roared suddenly, "And if you compare her to one of your brother's women again I will have you beaten within an inch of your life, my son or not." Jaime glowered at him and left without another word.

The next day the ravens from Minas Tirith returned, Denethor had agreed to stand in battle with them and provide them with any needed supplies on the way to Minas Tirith. It was an odd task forcing an army to keep the peace on a march, but he found ways of keeping the men in line. At a small village one day out from Dol Amroth word came that a young girl had been raped by five of his men, he'd had them hung and then tied the bodies to horses near the front of the army. Their corpses seemed to send the message and they had no further incidents.

Prince Imrahil had joined them, bringing three thousand men of his own. The knights of Dol Amroth were impressive to be sure, they wore uniform shining silver armor, the swan ship of Dol Amroth fluttering above their column as they rode with the rest of his cavalry.

"An impressive host Lord Tywin," Imrahil commented, riding next to him.

"The people of Gondor will take heart seeing such an army on the move against Mordor."

"Indeed they shall," Tywin replied. _And they will see what fate awaits any who would trouble the Lion._

 **A/N: A few review answers, as always spoilers ahead.**

 **Cyricist001 - sorry you don't like the Hound chapters. Mostly I've been attempting to write his interaction with the hobbits as something of a parallel with his feelings about Sansa. Despite what a lot of the fandom thinks I don't believe they're entirely romantic in nature, basically he likes Sansa because her naiviete and innocence inspires the idealist in him, the one that's been beaten down by years of seeing people like Gregor commit atrocities under the guise of knighthood. In the Shire he sees a place where the ideals of knighthood might be attainable, where people don't live in fear. Not only that but they've been fairly kind to him in spite of the fact that he brought Joffrey to them, and he's moved from drinking to escape his problems to drinking with friends. Sandor in canon is undergoing a similar transition if he's still alive (and I'm pretty sure he is) only in the books I have a feeling he'll be back as a religious zealot rather than a champion of the people like he's on track to be here.**

 **As for wildfire Euron probably can't make it in the volume the pyromancers did, one of the main ingredients is evergreen tar (same as Greek fire in real life) and while he was able to find a few barrels in the market Umbar is in a desert and it probably doesn't have a lot of pine trees growing in it.**

 **U.N.S. - Yes Tywin saw the orc corpses**

 **Hotrod333 - Well if you look at how many orcs are actually going and how many Theodred thinks there are, and then look at who it was that "warned" the Rohirrim about the goblins... things don't look quite as good.**


	42. XLII The Beggar King

**XLII  
The Beggar King**

After months of preparation the goblin host was finally ready to march down the Western bank of the river Isen. He looked at the assembled armies, fifty thousand strong at least. Barg, the Great Goblin, had even roused himself to take part in the march. The two of them waited now at the gates of Isengard. He wore his polished black armor and rode atop his wolf, who he'd taken to calling Stark. Next to him the great mass of Barg sat atop a sedan carried by at least a dozen smaller orcs. The Wizard Saruman had also come to see them off personally.

"Be wary my King," Saruman had said, "Theodred of Rohan rides to meet you, he will likely try to force a battle near the Fords of Isen,"

"I have no interested in Rohan," Joffrey said indignantly, "What does this fool think to accomplish by waylaying me so?"

"Jealousy perhaps," Saruman replied, "Of the wealth your kingdom has or the power of you and your allies."

"Bollocks to him anyway," The great goblin said, waving his hand dismissively, "A host of goblins this grand hasn't been assembled since the war with the dwarves, the Horselord will take one look at us and scurry back to his hovel."

"Why not cross here at Isengard?" Joffrey asked, "We could march down the East bank of the river and meet him head on instead of being forced to fight at the Fords."

"Bugger that," Barg spat, "The horsemen would harry us all the way down the riverbank, if they want to stop us from crossing the Fords they'll have to make an honest fight of it, and I don't mind losing a few thousand storming some fixed positions."

Joffrey nodded, it made sense, "How long will it take to march across the gap of Rohan?"

"At least three days," the goblin replied, "a number of bats swarm above which will allow us some cover if we are forced to march in the sun."

Joffrey looked up to see hundreds of the flying creatures illuminated by the light of the Isengard bonfires, "They answer to your command as well?"

The big orc laughed, "Oh no of course not, but where goblins go bats follow… there will be enough to block out the light… orcs are meant to fight in darkness young king." With that the goblin barked something in an orcish tongue and the sedan moved forward into the line of orcs.

Joffrey rode to the side of the lines with a few of the other wolf riders, their mounts snapping at any of the goblins which stepped out of line. He felt the whip at his side, he scanned the mob looking for an opportunity to use it… _There!_ He thought, one of the orcs seemed to be hobbling behind the rest

*CRACK!* "Keep it moving you slugs!" He shouted. With a whimper they picked up the pace, the sun had set a few hours ago and they had a long march ahead of them before it rose again. They kept the pace, with the whip's help of course, and during the day the Goblins erected a number of hide tents to shield them from the sun while they rested, the bats providing enough cover for the occasional orc to slip from tent to tent. Joffrey stayed in the central hovel with the Great Goblin himself, a great cloth structure that was big enough to ride a wolf into.

Finally after two days of this, they were in sight of the Fords. The light in the Eastern sky was beginning to return, and sunrise would be in a few hours. He stared angrily at a number of campfires just across the river, the men of Rohan had come to block him after all. He rode his wolf towards where the Barg had set up a small encampment.

"We should ride across there and smash them now," Joffrey said, "They'll scatter like roaches and we can continue on our way."

"Patience my king," The goblin chuckled, his many fat folds jiggling with each laugh, "We have but an hour of night left, we will fortify our encampment and attack them tomorrow night."

Joffrey seethed, but said nothing, electing instead to ride his wolf around the camp perimeter. He looked to see a small group roasting some meat over a campfire and, feeling a rumble in his gut, rode over to them.

"You there! Grunts! Cut me a bit of that meat!"

They looked at each other a moment, and then at him. Hatred was in their eyes, they'd been marching for two days now and his whip had kissed more than a few of them, they were tired and now he'd come for their food.

One of them stood up, it only came up to his chest but its fists were clenched in anger, "no! You didn't help catch it! You don't get to help eat it!"

Joffrey snarled and dismounted Stark, pulling his crossbow out and loading a bolt, "What did you say to me you little peon?"

The orc drew a black grime coated dagger, "I said no! Now unless you want to give us a taste of your-" He was cut off by the crossbow bolt flying into his chest, knocking him backwards. The other two squealed and drew their own swords, but a growl from his wolf sent them scurrying. With a smug smile Joffrey stepped forward cut himself a flank of the roasting meat, taking a bite right off his knife. He grimaced, he'd always preferred his pork heavily seasoned. He thought about offering some of the meat to his wolf but he turned to see it was already feasting on the dead goblin.

Suddenly a great horn blew, echoing over the fields as the first rays of light came over the horizon. His head whipped towards the source and he was shocked and horrified to see several thousand horsemen in full armor, lances lowered, riding across the river ford.

"It's an attack!" He screeched, quickly remounting. Some of the goblins around him were grabbing their things to flee, but he unfurled the whip and cracked it in a wide circle around him, "Form up! Form up you maggots!" he shouted, though he could see many were following his orders things were still in total disarray. Few of the goblins had spears, or any weapons longer than their short swords.

The first rank of riders made contact with the Goblins, their bodies were tossed high in the air and trampled under steel shorn hooves, their screeches causing panic to ripple through the camp. More of the goblins were rallying now though, they swarmed from tents and small burrows they'd dug, it was becoming clear in the light of day that the Goblins outnumbered the horsemen by a great amount, and with blood being spilled the bats overhead were worked into a frenzy as they flew to block out the rising sun.

Joffrey could see one column of riders, perhaps two hundred strong, turn towards his group of Goblins on the edge of the camp. He felt fear in his stomach suddenly as he realized that he had nowhere near the forces needed to stop their charge. He was about to turn his wolf around to flee when they hit his goblins, one of them was tossed high knocking him clean off his wolf and to the ground with a hard thud.

Another group of five men broke from the rest and dismounted, with a shock Joffrey could see they were Lannister Redcloaks, "Joffrey!" Their leader cried, "Joffrey you little shit I saw you over here!" His uncle Daven looked terrible, his beard, already long when Joffrey had last seen him, was now down to his waist, and his hair had grown down to meet it. His red and gold armor was covered in scratches, as was the armor of his men, and his drawn sword had a few noticeable notches in it. The worst though was his face, it was covered in scars that he didn't remember his uncle having, and his eyes were wide open and glinting with a madness that frightened him.

He scrambled to his feet, "To me!" he yelled, and in spite of the chaos he saw a few goblins rush forward to him, jaws clacking and swords drawn.

"You think that's going to stop me?" Daven ran forward with a laugh that bordered on insane, knocking goblins aside and cleaving clean through those he could not.

Joffrey turned to run back into the mass of orcs, but suddenly he heard a cracking noise and felt something around his leg, causing him to trip into the ground. With horror he looked down and saw that a whip coiled around his foot, following it he could see it was his own and it was in Daven's hands.

 _I must've dropped it!_ He thought, "Uncle Daven please-" he started.

"Cut the bullshit you miserable little bastard," Daven said angrily as he walked to Joffrey, "When I'm done with you you're going to hurt worse than-" but he was interrupted by another horn, this one higher and quicker than the Rohirrim's. They both looked to see another army approaching from the other side of the Fords of Isen, an army of Uruks bearing the White Hand of Saruman.

A cry of triumph when up from the assembled goblins as they saw that the Rohirrim were now trapped between the two forces. They surged forward with reckless abandon, forcing the horsemen back towards the ford.

"Ser Daven! The Rohirrim are retreating!" One of the redcloaks shouted.

Joffrey looked back to see hundreds of goblins now running towards their position, and he looked back to Daven with a smug grin, "Better get going uncle."

Without responding Daven dropped the whip and ran towards the horses, yelling and gesturing for his men to follow him. As he mounted his horse he spared one glance back at Joffrey. Their eyes made contact in that moment, and a shiver went down Joffrey's spine seeing the look of mad hatred his uncle gave him. By now though the goblins had made it to him, and he could see his wolf among them.

He mounted back up and took stock of the battlefield, the Rohirrim had been forced back over the fords, but could not retreat with the advancing Uruks now fanning out. He smiled and rode closer to get a better view of the slaughter. The Uruks carried long pikes which prevented any charges, and their own warg riders ran through their ranks and into the Rohirrim where they caused chaos and prevented the horsemen from going into any formation. Rather than rushing across the goblins were mostly pulling ruined tents across themselves to block what little sun made it through the dense cloud of bats, but enough stood ready that there would be no retreat to the West.

As the Uruks drew closer they pulled swords and the fighting started in earnest, he chuckled at the thought of his uncle meeting his end in that mob. Suddenly a great cry of anguish came up from the men, he could see the white horse banner of Rohan dip low.

"That'll be their leader," The great goblin said eagerly, Joffrey turned to see the goblin leader, carried on his same sedan only now with a number of goblins holding cloths on poles to keep him in the shade. "Without him they'll be slaughtered to the last man."

Suddenly a great white light appeared to the East, outshining even the sun. The bats scattered and many of the goblins cried out in anguish as the sun touched them, scurrying to get under cover. The orcs on the other side of the river roared angrily but parted like water before the beacon, with a yell the Rohirrim rode as one through the gap this created, escaping the battlefield.

The light continued across the fords and through the goblins, who fled before it. Even the great goblin's attendants fled, leaving their ranting master covered underneath the tarps they'd held aloft only a moment before. Joffrey tried to shield his eyes, but through his fingers he swore he saw an old man in grey riding on a white horse, a staff held high. As soon as he passed through their ranks the light vanished, and Joffrey saw him racing away to the West.

"What in the Seven Hells was that?" He asked, shocked.

"Another Wizard," Barg said angrily, holding the cloth over his head and peering out, "Not all are as friendly as Saruman… Tell me boy, what is the state of things?"

Joffrey looked around, seeing most of the army still hidden beneath their tents, the Uruks were marching back north, not even bothering to send anyone to treat with them.

"We can cross the fords," Joffrey said happily, "They're gone… they'll think twice before crossing me again."

"Well and good," the goblin said, "Come nightfall we'll get a proper count and see how many we lost…" He smiled, "We've won the day lad!"

Joffrey returned the grin, "That we have, when we reach the Westerlands the rewards will be _great._

 **A/N: alright I made a terrible MSpaint map of how this battle went out, won't let me link it so if you want to see it you'll need to go the Spacebattles thread. That said I don't think it's super necessary for the enjoyment of the story.  
**


	43. XLIII The Crow's Eye

**XLIII**

 **The Crow's Eye**

After his victory against Fuinor the people of Umbar had welcomed him into the harbor with cheers, both for the spectacle he'd provided and to welcome him as their new captain. He'd allowed them a night of celebration, and he'd been carried all through the city by laughing crowds. Come morning he'd arranged a meeting with the other leader of Umbar, a man named Salez who bore the title "Steward of the Haven."

He'd gone to the man's palace, one of two great white dome shaped buildings in the center of Umbar, one of which he assumed was now his, two of his crew trailing behind him. A pair of guards in full plate mail, a curiosity this far south, ushered him in and towards a staircase which lead several stories upwards. Rather than a great open throne room like he'd expected there was a small room with cushioned chairs arranged around the walls. A number of people were sitting around the room waiting, a few seemed like laborers, dirt covering their hands and faces, while some others wore silk finery and had a regal air about them. A few were reading books or scrolls.

"Where is Salez?" He asked impatiently.

A small chuckle went up from around the room, "You have to wait to see him most days," one of the better dressed men said, "slaves, captains, Haradrim, he makes all wait in the order they arrived."

Euron rolled his eye, "That changes today," he stormed down the hallway to a number of cheers and startled gasps. _These fools could learn a thing or two from Balon,_ he thought absently.

The hallway was ornately decorated with tapestries on either side. They depicted a great city of marble and stone on an island, the next several showed a figure Euron recognized as Sauron arriving and performing miracles, and finally they ended just before the door with a great wave washing over the city. _So that's what happened to it…_

Without knocking he kicked the door open, revealing a wide office with an open window facing the bay. Seated at a great desk was a wiry dark skinned man with curly black hair and a pointed beard. Across from him was the same fisherman he'd sent to buy his supplies the day before.

"Didn't I tell you to buy a warship?" He asked with a smile.

The man looked shocked to see him, "W-Why yes milord, you did… I was merely telling the Steward of your… skill on the waves."

"Indeed?" he chuckled. "Go, the next time I see you it will be as a raider captain or as fishing bait. The choice is yours." The man quickly got up to leave, keeping his eyes low. "And I'd better see your sons there too!" Euron yelled after him with a grin.

"So you must be the new Captain of the Haven" the Steward, Salez, said quietly. "I suppose it would be foolhardy to question the "will" of the Eye Euron Grejoy, but I think I shall anyway… what exactly are you doing here?"

He thought a moment, stroking his short beard, "It's simple really," he said, "I'm here to bring you to your full potential."

"Our full potential?" Salez asked skeptically, "We are the foremost naval power in the world, I don't know what you're after but-"

"Let me stop you there," he said. He sat down across from the steward and kicked his feet up on the desk, brushing several papers aside and knocking a small figurine of a knight over. "You're too caught up in what you think _I_ want." He gave a big friendly grin he knew would disarm most men, "The question you should be asking is not what you can do for me, but what I can do for _you."_ He punctuated the remark by setting the small figure upright again on the desk.

Salez raised an eyebrow, "And what can you do for me? I've already determined you did something with pine tar and Sulphur when you killed Fuinor... there are no pine trees in Umbar Greyjoy, and getting a sizable amount would take-"

"Months, years maybe," he replied, "From what I've heard the store I acquired was captured off of a Gondorian ship just outside the mouth of the Anduin. I've looked at enough maps to realize you probably don't have easy access to evergreens." _And I've soared above the land like a crow too._ "The wildfire, that's what it's called by the way, is only one of many things I will bring to Umbar."

Now he'd caught Salez's attention, "Are there other such weapons?" the man asked eagerly.

"Indeed there are, though perhaps not as visually impressive," he pulled his feet off the desk and grabbed a paper from the floor and a quill. He began to sketch out the basic design of an Ironborn longship, "Umbar and Gondor use the same ship designs for the most part, I've sunk enough of each to know by now…"

"Though they serve those who cast us down they are of the blood of Numenor as well, and their ships reflect this," the steward replied with a frown, "What is your point?"

"This works to our advantage, look here," he finished his drawing and pushed the paper towards Selaz, "This is a ship like my own, speed and maneuverability are key, with one of these a Captain can land right on a beach in all but the most treacherous waters."

The steward looked over the drawing for a minute, "Somewhat… primitive, isn't it?"

"It's fast, faster than anything in these waters," Euron replied, "and it can land right up on a beach. A crew can disembark in minutes, grab anything a coastal town has of any value, and be back on board before anyone has a chance to do anything about it."

Salez was studying the drawing carefully now, "So you'd build a fleet of these light boats,"

"Longships," he said, "and yes, for too long Umbar has tried to match the might of Gondor on the open seas. The time has come to simply take what we can carry and burn the rest." He smiled, "My family has a saying, We Do Not Sow. I've seen it before, navies with great strong ships made useless when they aren't fast enough to protect their shores."

Understanding dawned on the other man's face, "We'll begin construction right away," Salez said, excited, "I'll send for wood from the south, we have enough lumber camps in the jungles to meet this need I think." He smiled, "When I'd heard you'd defeated Fuinor I was worried that some fool upstart had taken control of my city by manipulating lesser minds… Perhaps you really were sent from the Eye, this is rather more ambitious than what I'd become accustomed to from the Captain of the Haven."

"I should hope so," he said, pulling his patch aside briefly, causing the other man to gasp. "I'm aiming to be a bit more than a mere captain." With that he got up and walked out, readjusting his eyepatch. He passed back through the waiting room where his two crew were standing awkwardly among the rest of those waiting, he gestured for them to follow him.

By the next day the lumber had been gathered to begin construction on the first longship, he'd assembled the shipwrights of the city to join him as he oversaw the work. He'd had _Silence_ sailed into view so he could refer to it.

"It only needs one mast," he began, "A single great sail to pull it forward with the full force of the wind." He pointed to black maiden carved on the front of his own ship, "It's also traditional to carve something on the bow there." He thought a moment, "Don't just copy mine though, come up with your own designs." The assembled shipbuilders nodded, several were taking notes.

After about three weeks of work the first ship was completed, a local carpenter had volunteered to carve a face on the front bow that he said was supposed to be some lost king or another, but to Euron it just looked like a stern fellow wearing a crown. They'd hefted it over the harbor and slid it into the water by the dock where it bobbed with the waves, the first ship of his new Iron Fleet. He raised a wine bottle to christen the ship, but paused looking around at the assembled workers and noblemen of Umbar.

"Who will captain this ship for me?" He called, "Who will sail her home filled with plunder?"

"I will!" A voice called out, he looked to see a tall dark haired man with high cheekbones step forward.

"Your name Captain?" He asked, handing the bottle to the stranger.

"Herumor my lord, Herumor of Umbar."

He smiled, "Well Herumor of Umbar, what is this ship to be called?"

"Tar-Calion!" He shouted, smashing the bottle against the ship. The crowd cheered and Euron smiled.

"A fine name Captain Herumor, may _Tar-Calion_ serve you well."

The remaining ships did not go quite so quickly, though he'd had unlimited laborers to build the first longship now they were spread over several sites. The lumber situation was also less than ideal, but a steady supply of new trees came on ships from South Harad. After another few weeks he had five completed ships, feeling impatient he he'd decided he would lead the captains in a raid, a first attempt to show the Corsairs how easy and profitable they could be.

Following his orders the five longship captains met him in the bay, each carrying forty men and pushed forward by a great black sail with a golden kraken painted across the center. Herumor's ship was there of course, and he noted with a smile that the fisherman finally captained a warship, his sons armed and standing behind him. They set out under an overcast sky, rowing towards Gondor. He'd thought at first that they would attack Pelargir, but he didn't want to take untested men upriver and it was far too large for such a small force anyway. He settled on a town just outside of the mouth of the Anduin holding perhaps two or three thousand people. He gave orders to gather the captains on _Silence_ to brief them on the plan… but first he grasped the Palantir.

He soared over the town they were to attack, there were a few armed men in the streets, but nothing more than a simple city watch. He flew higher and saw a great gathering of men on the road to the north. As he drifted over them he saw the golden lion banners of the Lannisters. It didn't matter, even with all their strength they would be too far to help these poor fools…

He pulled his hand off the Palantir and turned to see the collected captains gazing at him curiously, "We attack." He said simply.

Herumor stepped forward, "Lord Captain… where did you get-"

"We attack," he repeated. There was a distant rumble of thunder and he looked up, seeing stormclouds on the horizon. "We'll have to go quickly, I'm hoping to have a nice blaze going before the rain starts."

Herumor nodded, "Are there any other orders?" he asked quietly.

"Take all you can carry, burn whatever you can't," he replied. They disembarked back to their own ships and the rowers brought them into loose formation behind _Silence_. With a grin he pulled a rope, unfurling the sail and displaying the Greyjoy kraken. The sails behind him unfurled and then swelled in unison, carrying them towards the beach of the Gondorian town like the head of some great spear. Soon they were moving so quickly the rowers just pulled the oars up, not bothering to break the choppy surf.

"WE DO NOT SOW!" He yelled at the top of his voice, pulling his sword and waving it high. He heard battle cries going up behind him and suddenly felt as though he were flying again. He could see the people in the streets now, they were running and screaming, children cried and women wept. He smiled seeing a handful of armed and armored men rushing towards the beach. As the ship ground to a halt in the sand he jumped from the ship's bow, the momentum carrying him down onto one of the men who he stabbed through the throat with a scream.

The throaty roar of his mute crewmen was met with the screams of the Corsairs jumping from their own ships. The men on the beach were quickly overwhelmed and fled back towards the city, Herumor shot one in the back with a great black longbow. The guard tumbled forward, his blood staining the sand.

They ran forward into the town proper, bells were ringing and he heard more screaming as his men began tossing lit torches onto the roofs of nearby houses. Before the raid he'd ordered the captains to give each man a burlap sack, he could see some of the more enterprising men running into shops and homes, coming back out throwing everything from peppers to gold coins into them. One pair of men were tying and gagging a screaming young woman.

He witnessed the bedlam around him and laughed cheerfully, "Burn it down and piss on the ashes!" He saw an old man hobbling down a nearby alley and with a quick motion threw a dagger into his back. Pulling it from the dead man he turned to see Herumor leading a small group of men towards him.

"Captain Greyjoy, a number of people have taken shelter in the town hall, there are armed men in there… perhaps a hundred."

"Preparing for some sort of counter attack no doubt," he said, his smiling eye twinkling. He looked about and saw a carriage, the horse laying dead in the gutter with a cut throat. A bag of fruit was in the back and he took a peach out and bit into it, savoring the flavor. "Give the men a last call, we'll shove off soon."

"Captain I don't understand… we've got complete control of the town, surely we can defeat-"

"The goal of a raid is not to fight at all if you can help it," he said, cutting him off, "By now the men will have whatever's worth having on this half of town… we can come back for the rest another day."

Herumor frowned but began shouting orders anyway, soon the Corsairs were walking back towards the beach, each man with a sack of plunder over his shoulder. There was much laughing and several men were comparing what they'd taken. Euron looked around and saw the fisherman walking just behind him.

"Fisherman!" he called, causing the man to look up, "What did you get?" he asked smiling.

"A nice fresh watermelon milord!" The man said, pulling the fruit out of the bag.

He frowned, "A watermelon? Surely they had something better than that…" The fisherman seemed embarrassed but drew a silver candlestick out of the bag as well. "That's more like it!" he said, slapping the man on the back, "We'll make a proper reaver out of you yet!"

They reached the ships and began pushing them back into the surf, suddenly there was a battle cry from behind them and Euron turned to see perhaps two hundred men, some city watchmen and some just peasants armed with pitchforks and scythes, running towards them. He started laughing and jumped aboard _Silence_ , the rowers already pulling them back out to sea. The rest of the ships were escaping as well, and the men joined his laughter, many stopping to make rude gestures at the men on the shore. One had pulled his pants down and was waving his bare buttocks at them.

"Home to Umbar lads!" He called. He pulled another of the peaches from the cart out of his pocket and took a bit, the juices running down his chin and into his beard. _Nothing tastes half as good as fruit bought at the Iron Price._

 **A/N: a few review answers  
**

 **Hotrod333 - Yep Joffrey named his warg Stark, he's kind of a dick like that. As for the battle of Osgiliath yes that's the one Boromir and Faramir won just before Boromir left for the Council of Elrond.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Tywin's army is about 25,000 with around 8,000 cavalry and the rest foot. He's also been supplemented by 3,000 knights of Dol Amroth.**

 **U.N.S. - Osgiliath is likely to be the first time the Lannister host comes against Sauron's real might, we're not talking a few hundred orc bandits or maybe some Corsairs, Osgiliath is where the Nine revealed themselves for the first time during the War of the Ring remember.**


	44. XLIV The Captain of Gondor

**XLIV  
The Captain of Gondor**

 _Seek for the Sword that was broken:_  
 _In Imladris it dwells;_  
 _There shall be counsels taken_  
 _Stronger than Morgul-spells._  
 _There shall be shown a token_  
 _That Doom is near at hand,_  
 _For Isildur's Bane shall waken,_  
 _And the Halfling forth shall stand._

Boromir jerked awake with a start, a cold sweat covering his forehead. He stumbled out of bed and over to his dresser where a small bowl of water sat, he splashed his face. Looking out the window he saw the first rays of light appearing over the horizon. Morning then, or near enough. He sighed and began strapping his sword belt on.

The dreams had started a week ago, every night the same riddle would echo through his mind until it grew so loud it forced him awake. He wasn't sure what to make of it… Imladris he knew to be Rivendell, and the sword that was broken was Narsil, but surely Isildur's Bane couldn't be with the elves? And what could be done if it was? He shook his head rapidly hoping to clear the light headache he'd woken up with, he had many things to do before departing the city. He and Faramir had decided to quarter in Osgiliath with the garrison until the Lannister forces arrived and he hoped to finish his business in Minas Tirith before then.

He left to search for Faramir, he didn't find him in his quarters nor in the training yard. The sun was fully up when he finally located his brother in the lower level of the Citadel library, candles lit, pouring over some scroll or another.

"Faramir, what are you doing in here?" He asked, causing his brother's head to snap up.

"Boromir!?" he asked startled, "I'm sorry I came down here to read… what time is it?"

"The sun's been up for at least an hour brother," Boromir replied with a smile, "I'm afraid you'll have to leave the books for another day."

Faramir rubbed his temples, "I'm sorry, I must have lost track of time… I've been having these dreams you see-"

"Dreams?" Boromir said suddenly, "What dreams?"

"A riddle, it tells me to seek the shards of Narsil…"

"Faramir" he started, "I… I've been having the same dream."

There was silence for a moment before Faramir spoke, "Two men may by chance tread the same path, but no two men, even brothers, have the same dreams except by the will of Eru Iluvitar."

"But what does it mean?" Boromir replied angrily, "Are we really to abandon everything we are doing and trek across half of middle earth to Rivendell just to look at a broken sword?"

Faramir shrugged, "Well that was the conclusion I'd come to... but I share your reservations."

Boromir sighed, "It would have to wait until after the battle at least. We are needed here."

"Brother, this is a sign from Iluvitar himself!"

"Good, he will deliver victory to us so that we may fulfill his will, but we still need to prepare our defenses."

"Boromir-"

"Come with me to Osgiliath, that's an order."

Faramir's shoulders slumped, "You're really going to pull rank on me?" he asked with a small smile.

He returned it, "I'm afraid so, let's move out."

The two of them walked through the courtyard, passing the white tree. He noticed a few Lannister redcloaks arrayed around the green. This puzzled him until he saw Lady Cersei, sitting alone on a small bench, sipping from a cup of wine. She seemed sad, the wind whipped at her hair lightly, emphasizing this look.

"We should go say something," Faramir said, "It's only proper."

"I don't think that's such a good idea," he replied, "The woman hates me anyways, I look too much like this Ned Stark she loathes so much."  
Faramir looked at him a moment, then yelled, "Greetings lady Cersei!"

 _Damn it all Faramir,_ he thought, he quickly put on a smile and waved to her. She similarly put on what was obviously a fake grin and waved back. Faramir began walking towards her, Boromir reluctantly followed behind.

"Well met sons of the steward," her eyes were red and her wine cup was nearly empty, likely the latest of many. Looking to one of her guards he saw a pitcher in the man's hand. "Where are you off to on such a beautiful late spring day?"

"We've got to make preparations for your father's arrival and for the coming battle," He said, "If you'll excuse us-"

"Lady Cersei is… is everything all right?" Faramir asked suddenly.

She gave a low laugh, "My father is coming here to join you in battle… surely you two know what that means?"

The two of them looked at each other, _more damned riddles,_ he thought, "I'm afraid you'll have to explain it to us, I'd thought it meant only that we had new allies in the war against Mordor."

She smiled and rolled her eyes, "You fools… when our fathers meet they are likely to hammer out a proper marriage agreement to bind our houses." She took another drink of her wine, "I'd hoped to avoid doing this again… but I don't want to see my daughter suffer as I did."

 _Suffer? Does she really think so low of us?_ He thought indignantly, "Lady Cersei, I've no desire to partake in this madness either but surely-"

"Every time you speak I can hear Ned Stark's voice, every time I see you I see the man who tried to murder me and my children!" she seethed, "And now, in order to save my daughter from being married to a man thirty years her senior I will likely be forced to wed and then bed you." She drank the rest of the cup in a single quick gulp, throwing it to the ground. "Do not compare your mere discomfort to my suffering."

"Now see here-" He started angrily, but was cut off by Faramir's voice.

"Surely our fathers will allow some room for… preference?" he asked hesitantly.

Her eyes narrowed but she nodded, "I imagine so… though my father will prefer a match between the Steward's eldest son and either myself or my daughter."

"If my brother's visage torments you so then a marriage between you two would be an unhappy one," he said quietly, "If necessary perhaps we could convince our fathers that…" He swallowed and the next words came haltingly, "You and I should be… married."

Both he and Cersei looked at Faramir, shocked, _Faramir you are the best brother any man has ever known._ Cersei stood up, her long red dress flowing lightly in the breeze. In spite of her drunkenness he could tell she was giving the issue real thought. She looked Faramir up and down, circling him like a lion.

"You're easy enough on the eyes to be sure," She said with a dark smile, "it must pain you to bring your days of fighting and whoring to an end…"  
Now Faramir was offended, "Lady Cersei I've fought my share of battles true, but I'll not have you dishonor me with such words."

She frowned and rolled her eyes, "I've outgrown men's lies Faramir, even if you fools never grow out of telling them."

"It's no lie lady Cersei," Boromir said, "Faramir and I have been at war too long to enjoy such… comforts even if we desired them."

She looked at the two of them a moment before a shocked expression came over her face, "Gods, you're telling the truth aren't you? Have you ever been with a woman at-"

"I'll speak no more of this," Faramir said testily, "Do not make me regret this offer… Lady Cersei, will you agree to marry me or not?"

She smiled with a false sweetness, "Isn't it customary to get on one's knees?"

"I won't be doing that, give me a yes or a no," he replied.

She sighed, "I will, should we tell Lord Denethor of our decision or wait until my father's army arrives?"

"Let us keep it between us for now," Faramir said. He looked less like a man who'd just gotten engaged and more like a man who had just found out he'd contracted a fatal illness.

"Well I'm sure your father and Jaime will be pleased to hear it at least," Boromir said, testing the waters.

Both his brother and Cersei glared at him, "Brother, if I could ask a favor," Faramir began, "Leave me alone with my wife to be for some time while we settle a few things."

He shrugged, "Certainly, come to see me at the lower gate when you are finished, we still must prepare for the battle." He walked down the stairs to the lower levels, a slight spring in his step. He felt bad for Faramir, and truthfully even for Cersei, but he'd dodged the arrow.

He waited and time dragged on, after at least an hour had passed a Lannister redcloak came riding past him, hunched over as if in deep thought.

"You there! Redcloak! Have you any idea if Faramir is still meeting with my sister?"

"They said not to disturb them," the man growled in a low voice, it sounded almost like he was sick.

"That's odd," he said, "Do you know what business they're discussing that's taking so long?" the man had ridden past him now, only his back exposed.

"Didn't say," the man growled again. Boromir was about to ask another question but the man had continued on and was now out of earshot.  
Finally he could take no more, it was at least noon now and whatever they were talking about would have to wait for another day. He stormed back up the citadel to find the courtyard empty. He angrily walked into the empty throne room and down the hall to their quarters. Judging from the redcloaks standing guard by the door the Queen Mother was in her chambers.

"Let me through, I need to speak to lady Cersei," he said.

The guards exchanged an embarrassed look, "Lord Boromir," one began, "Your brother is… with the queen."

"I know, I need to speak to them both," he said with annoyance.

The other guard sighed, "They are in a... compromising state your Lordship."

"What do you-" realization suddenly dawned on him, "That's impossible! Faramir would never- FARAMIR!" He yelled suddenly, causing the guards to jump.

"Lord Boromir I don't think you should-" but the guard was interrupted by Cersei's voice calling.

"Send him in!"

With a sigh he pushed past the guards and entered the room. Cersei was waiting on a couch, fully clothed with a wine cup in her hand.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to come looking for us," she said with a smile, "Can I offer you something to drink Lord Boromir?"

"What's going on?" he asked looking around, "Where's Faramir?"

"Oh he's gone," she said, "Close the door and I'll explain." Reluctanctly he did so, seeing she was pouring him a cup of wine he angrily took it.

"What is this?" he repeated, "What have the two of you done?"

She sat upright with a smile, "Your brother is an… earnest man, did you know that?" She took a drink and laughed a little, "He told me a few things as his "wife to be," he actually felt he owed me an explanation."

"An explanation for what?" Boromir asked hesitantly.

"Why that he's going to Rivendell of course," she said, "He told me you had some idea that he would do so, but that you'd prohibited it."

 _Rivendell?!_ "Surely you jest, Faramir would never desert our army." _The dreams, he's following the dreams…_

"He seems to think it's important that he go for the sake of the war effort, I can't say I understand why... from what I've heard it hardly sounds like a place of importance." She shrugged, "In any case I provided him with a disguise to sneak past you and your men… he's likely beyond the walls by now."

 _That redcloak!_ He suddenly realized the man had been about Faramir's size and build, "And he's far too skilled in stealth for any to catch him unless he wants them to…" he finished grimly. "Why would you help him do this?"

"Why love of course," she said simply. He glared at her angrily before she gave a drunk chuckle, "I'm sorry, I couldn't help it." She set her empty cup on an end table, "With Faramir being absent I can hardly get married to him now can I?"

"Then our fathers will simply arrange for us to-"

"No they won't," she said with a smile, "I made sure to lead Faramir here past Jeyne Westerling's quarters, she's in there sewing with some of those tarts she's taken to chattering with. By nightfall everyone will be whispering that he's already bedded me, in the face of that I'm certain that our fathers will accept our "engagement" even in his absence."

"Did you?" he asked, a morbid curiosity driving the question, "bed him I mean…"

She laughed, "No, of course not… your brother actually gave me an oath that he would not dishonor me by laying with another while he was away. You Gondorians are a strange people, did you know that?"

 _She thinks_ we're _the strange ones?_ "And where are we to say Faramir has gone?" he asked.

She shrugged, "Does it matter? Say he's on a mission for you, a mission that requires secrecy."

"Father will never believe that!" He started, "Faramir has always been… open, to certain ideas and my father will know they've lead him down this fool path."

"Perhaps the word of his love stricken bride-to-be would help convince Lord Denethor," she said dismissively, "Like I said, it doesn't matter, he's gone and we're engaged now."

"The two of you have thought of everything haven't you?" He asked sourly.

"I'm my father's daughter," she replied with a smile, "And Faramir isn't quite the fool I took him to be when we first met either."

He sighed and left without another word, _Faramir,_ he thought, _you leave me on the eve of battle._ His mind went again to the dreams, _though perhaps whatever you find in Imladris will make up for it._


	45. XLV The Imp

**XLV**

 **The Imp**

Tyrion taken a few days to get his bearings in Edoras. Without the Wizard he felt vulnerable, but after meeting Eowyn he knew he had at least one friend in the city. He'd been staying in the Golden Hall of Medusheld in the guest quarters, comfortable but not quite as nice as he was used to.

After watching the events at court for a few days he determined that Eowyn had been mistaken, there were still men in Edoras outside of Grima's pull… The most notable was the captain of the Medusheld guards, a man called Hama. Although he was a gruff fellow he clearly cared little for the king's advisor. This was most notable during an exchange between the two that occurred in the aftermath of a theft, a jeweled necklace belonging to one of the servant girls had been taken. He was sitting with Eowyn in one of the lounges of the main hall watching the affair.

"That is the third item stolen this week, a thief lurks Medusheld and I will catch him," Hama had said confidently.

"A waste of time and effort," Grima replied dismissively, "A few baubles saved here and there would not outweigh the costs of keeping so many men here at all hours."

"It's the principle of the thing," Hama said angrily, "This is the king's hall! A symbol of all Rohan!"

"And would you bankrupt your king over a symbol?" Grima asked with a smug smile. Hama just gave an angry grunt and stormed off, Grima continued smiling and went about his way too, shooting Eowyn a small look before he left.

"That Hama, he's the man you need to have on your side," Tyrion said as soon as Grima had left, "He's ideal, he hates Grima, he leads armed men, and he's close."

"Hama would never disobey a direct order though," Eowyn said hesitantly.

"Then don't put him in a position where he has to," Tyrion replied, pouring himself another cup of mead, "Go to him later and tell him you support his plan to catch the thief, offer him whatever resources he needs from your own pocket. Surely the royal treasury can offer you some gold-"

"Grain," she said suddenly, "Gold is used for some purchases but the guards here receive a stipend of grain as their wages."

"Grain?" Tyrion asked quizzically, the he chuckled, "Very well then, see to it that he receives enough grain to keep the men here late at least a few nights."

"You mean to catch the thief?" Eowyn asked excitedly, "That would win him over for certain!"

Tyrion rolled his eyes, "Frankly I'm of the same mind as Grima regarding the thief, our purpose is to tell Hama that we support and value his efforts while Grima does not."

She thought a moment, "So we are going to spend wealth and manpower searching for a thief we don't care about simply to send a message to Hama that we are his allies without outright telling him so?"

He smiled, "Precisely! You're picking this up rather well."

She lit up, "You have my thanks Lord Tyrion… though with all this…"

"Subterfuge," he said simply, "the word you're looking for is subterfuge."

She nodded, "With all of this subterfuge, the courts of your land must be maddening."

He looked into his cup a moment, "You have no idea…"

"Will you go with me to court tomorrow?" she asked suddenly, "The king is to pronounce judgment on a number of matters, Grima will likely make most of the real decisions."

He shrugged, "It's what I've agreed to isn't it?" Truthfully even if he hadn't wanted to go there was little to do in Edoras besides drink and plot. He'd been shocked to find that there were no whorehouses at all in the city, and even if there were he wasn't sure if he felt up to visiting them again yet. "I've yet to meet your uncle, I look forward to it," he said mildly.

She smiled sadly, "It would perhaps have been better if you had met him in his younger days."

The next day they gathered in the hall and Tyrion concluded that Eowyn was right. The king was lead out by a pair of guards to steady him, although he knew the king was old, seventy from what he'd heard, he hadn't expected to see so frail a man. A great white whispy beard covered his chin, his eyes were sunken in his face, and he looked as though every step might break him. They ushered him into his throne where he sat with a great long sigh. He made a waving motion and Grima drew close to him, there was a low whisper and then Grima stood up.

"King Theoden invites any with grievances, disputes, or other matters of the realm to step forward."

The first few petitioners held little interest for Tyrion, farmers who argued over a boundary dispute, two ranchers claiming to own the same horse, and one particularly drawn out argument between a man and a woman over the parentage of a child. In all these matters Grima seemed, at least to him, to be a fair and capable ruler. Though he often leaned in to whisper with the king it was clear that Grima was steering most of the decisions in the way he felt they ought to go.

This changed when a young man stepped forward, he was almost a child really, spots on his face, and his clothes were a worn and scratchy looking cloth.

"King Theoden, I am Erling, son of Eling, I come to your court in my hour of need to ask for my king's strength."

This intrigued Tyrion and he put his cup down, he could see Grima paying closer attention as well, "Speak Erling, son of Eling, what matters trouble you?"

The boy seemed nervous now, unused to so many eyes upon him, "M-my family, we herd horses and sheep in East Emnet. Though we have long lived in peace there our herds have come under attack by wargs, great howling beasts with fire in their eyes!" He paused and looked around again, gulping before continuing, "They have taken many of our animals, and my father fears they will diminish our herds to the point of ruin." His voice almost cracked now, "I'd ask that the king send men to help us hunt these beasts down, I have four brothers, proud and strong, and my father is an able man as well, but we are not enough to protect the animals and hunt the beasts."

All heads in the room turned to Grima, who stroked his chin, "Wolves then? You'd trouble your king because of a few wolves?"

"Wargs milord!" he protested, "Wolves we have always had, but these creatures are the size of a horse with the cunning of a man!"

"Superstition has little place in the halls of governance young Erling," Grima said dismissively, a low chuckle went up among those watching. "We've few enough men without sending them chasing… oh what is the expression Lord Tyrion?"

"Grumpkins and Snarks," he replied grimly from the other side of the room. _Though wargs are hardly so harmless._

Grima nodded, giving the boy a condescending smile, "I'm sure we can give you some supplies for your return journey but-"

"Without help we are doomed!" the boy said, tears forming in the corners of his eyes, "They will come for us when the animals are gone!"

Grima chuckled again, "Boy if your father needs men from Edoras merely to hold his lands from the beasts of the field he's merely a poor rancher, not a besieged maiden in need of rescue." More in the court laughed and Grima nodded, looking around in approval, "Guards! Remove him!"

"No!" The boy cried, but the men had already grabbed his arms and were hauling him towards the door.

Tyrion sighed, _something has to be done…_ he nudged Eowyn sharply, causing her to look down at him.

"Speak up," he whispered quickly, hoping to avoid attention.

Her eyes were wide, "Lord Tyrion it's not my place to-"

"Say something or that boy and his family are dead, they are all _dead!_ "

She stood up and stepped forward, "Wait!" she called, and suddenly all eyes in the room turned to her, the guards stopped in their tracks. She looked around, suddenly self conscious, "I… that is to say…"

 _Not exactly the second coming of Robert Baratheon,_ Tyrion thought, _Perhaps I should-_

She interrupted his thoughts, "I think we must send someone with the boy… to see if he's telling the truth."

"Lady Eowyn," Grima said with annoyance, "I know that your sympathies have perhaps been evoked here, but this is a matter for the King to decide, not one to be commented on by the court at large."

He turned to the king with a smug smile, but suddenly Theoden's chest rose with a great breath, "I would…" he wheezed, stunning the room, "I would like to hear what Eowyn has to say…"

"My King conserve your strength-" Grima began, but was cut off by a hand wave from the king, an unmistakable demand for silence.

Eowyn looked her uncle in the eyes and something passed between them, _whatever there is of him in there still cares for her,_ Tyrion observed. She continued speaking.

"We should send at least five men, they can be to the farm inside a week and determine if these are wargs or mere wolves," she said firmly. There were murmurs of agreement and the boy fell to his knees.

"Thank you, thank you lady Eowyn! We will never forget this!" the boy blubbered.

"Enough!" Grima shouted, "Very well, if we are to do this thing…" he looked around the room, his eyes landing on Hama, "The doorwarden will make a fine leader for this… _expedition."_

 _He means to send the only swords he doesn't control out of Edoras,_ Tyrion thought frantically. He looked to Eowyn but saw that she was nodding, _The woman is only thinking of helping those peasants_.Hama was not offering any objections either. He sighed, _time to join the game again._

"But Lord Grima!" He said loudly, "Surely there is someone better equipped for this task?" The heads in the room turned to him now, and he stepped into the center of the hall where all could see and hear him. Judging from their expressions this was likely the most exciting court session in some time.

Grima cocked his head sideways in confusion, "What do you mean Lord Tyrion? Hama is a stout warrior and an able leader of men."

"Indeed I am!" the subject of their conversation boomed from the back of the room. A number of people made noises in agreement, and a few even clapped.

 _That fool doesn't know what plots are being spun here either,_ he thought with annoyance, "Indeed you are!" he said with a fake smile, "But this is a matter that will require speed will it not?"

"What are you implying?" Hama asked, a hint of anger in his voice.

"Well it seems that the Doorguards have few fast horses," he said hurriedly, "and from what I was told most of the fastest steeds have been taken by Theodred for the battle… is there any force remaining that has full mounts and remounts to make such a speedy journey?" He looked desperately to Eowyn, and then to Grima, hoping she would make the connection.

He eyes suddenly lit up and she spoke, "Why yes Lord Tyrion, Grima's personal guards were granted respite from the draft of horses for Theodred's ride, some of them could easily go and-"

"Absolutely not!" Grima started angrily, "My guards are needed to maintain order-"

"But couldn't Hama and his men take over some of their duties?" Eowyn asked smiling, "Or you could relinquish some of your horses…" Grima glared at Eowyn and then at Tyrion, his eyes full of anger. _Well my loyalties are clear now,_ he thought with annoyance _._ Grima was looking about the rest of the room, many were muttering and others averted his gaze.

"Very well," Grima said, "I will send five of my men to see to these "wargs," though I still find this a foolhardy waste of manpower."

The rest of the session at court went mostly as the first half had, though Grima was noticeably unnerved throughout the proceedings. When things concluded he and Eowyn walked outside the hall on a small path leading to an overlook where the city and the mountains could be viewed.

"That was… that was exhilarating!" Eowyn said excitedly.

Tyrion nodded, "You did well Lady Eowyn. Those at court will come to respect your voice, but do not think all victories will be this easy. We gained little, perhaps some respect among the peasantry and some lords, but we almost saw Hama depart the city and there's no telling the damage Grima could've caused in his absence."

As if summoned by their words the Doorwarden appeared around the corner, "Lady Eowyn," he bowed slightly, "Lord Tyrion, there are several men by the main gates asking for you."

He smiled, "Thank you master Doorwarden, I'll see to them at once." He sighed and drained his cup, "Lady Eowyn accompany me please, if these visitors are who I believe they are it will be important for you to meet them."

The pair walked to the main entrance of Medusheld where he recognized Bronn, still wearing simple chainmail and leathers, though now carrying a sword bearing the white tree of Minas Tirith on the pommel.

He smiled seeing Tyrion, "So we've recovered enough to write letters I see. How's the finger?"

"Ever the gentleman and scholar Bronn," Tyrion laughed. He held his hand up, the gap where his ring finger used to be had healed over mostly by now, though a thick pink scar still marred the skin.

Bronn nodded, "Well it could be worse. I've seen some nasty war wounds, one poor fellow lost most of his nose-" he stopped seeing Eowyn, "I-I'm sorry milady, I didn't mean to-"

"Oh where are my manners," Tyrion started, "Lady Eowyn this is Bronn the sellsword. Bronn, this is lady Eowyn, niece of King Theoden and princess of Rohan."

Bronn's eyes widened, "Pleased to meet you your highness," he gave a poor bow, "Well you weren't kidding when you said you had a way to pay me then… so what manner of work are we doing?"

They were suddenly interrupted by the sound of a loud argument coming around the corner from the stables.

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard! And I'll have you know I've ridden with honest to gods simpletons!" a deep voice boomed, one Tyrion recognized.

"You brought Lyle Crakehall?" Tyrion asked, somewhat amused.

"Oh not just him," Bronn said with a smile.

"Simpletons, Andals, Shagga sees no difference." The two of them appeared now, Crakehall wearing his plate armor and Shagga wearing a collection of furs that from their look had at least seen a seamstress' needle. He'd at least forgone the horned helm… Crakehall opened his mouth about to retort when Tyrion cut them off.

"Ser Lyle!" He grinned remembering what he'd heard from Bronn back in Minas Tirith, " _Ser_ Shagga, cease your arguing, there is a lady present! You stand before Princess Eowyn of Rohan."

The two men stopped for a second and Crakehall went to his knee, "M'Lady I am ser Lyle Crakehall, second son of Lord Roland Crakehall, lord of Crakehall and all it's lands. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Shagga looked to him and then to Eowyn and clumsily dropped to a knee as well, it was an unpracticed motion and he needed to use an arm to steady himself, "I am Ser Shagga, son of Dolf, of the Stone Crows."

Eowyn giggled at the display, "Well met knights of the Westerlands and friends of Lord Tyrion. You may rise." The two of them did so.

Crakehall then turned to Tyrion, from his reaction he might have been drinking with the dwarf just the night before, "Lord Tyrion, you're a well-read sort, tell the savage that there's no way a man could outrun a horse!"

Tyrion sighed and turned to Bronn, "I must ask what lead you to recruit them, didn't my letter say subtlety would be needed?"

Bronn shrugged, "They're fine fighters and your letter promised gold and glory, I figured I'd take the gold and they could have any glory you were handing out."

"Lord Tyrion can we trust these men?" Lady Eowyn asked uncertainly.

Tyrion rolled his eyes, "This one will be with us so long as there's payment," he said jerking his thumb at Bronn, "those two…" he pointed to Crakehall and Shagga who were beginning to argue about the speed of various breeds of horses, "Well I wouldn't trust them with a pretty serving girl, anything made out of glass, or an unguarded pie… but yes we can trust them with our lives."

She smiled, "Good to hear." Suddenly she raised her voice, "And yes a man can outrun a horse, but only over very long distances."

The two men stopped arguing, looking embarrassed, "I'm sorry Lady Eowyn, this one's a savage you see," Crakehall began, "He doesn't know a lot of things about the world and-"

"Shagga was the one who said a man could outrun a horse!" Shagga roared, "It was _you_ Andal who said no man could outrun the beast!"

"Enough!" Tyrion shouted, "Let's get you men settled and then we'll all have a drink and discuss why you're here." The group moved into the great hall, Crakehall nodded politely looking around, and Shagga seemed impressed, but Bronn frowned.

"How much gold does this royal family have exactly Tyrion?" he asked quietly.

"Enough," Tyrion responded curtly, "They've got enough."

About an hour later, after the men had been given a room and had some time to clean up from the road, all of them met back in the main hall. One of the fires was burning low, a spit of meat hanging above it, Shagga eagerly cut himself a piece as Tyrion explained the situation.

"So we believe that Lord Grima seeks to consolidate control over the land of Rohan," Tyrion said, "I believe he will move soon, which is why he was so eager to have Hama's men out of the city."

"And you'd like a few swords of your own if things go bad, that it?" Bronn asked, taking a drink of mead.

"Yes," Eowyn said, "Lord Tyrion tells me these things can get… ugly."

"There's an understatement," Bronn replied with a chuckle.

Suddenly the doors of the great hall flew open, Hama led a man wearing mail and bearing the banner of Rohan, the white horse torn clear in two from the deep cuts through the cloth. The man saw Eowyn and ran to her, he was dirty and his eyes were red with a wetness that suggested tears.

"Grimbold, what is the meaning of this?" Eowyn asked, shocked.

"My Lady Eowyn," He said, lowering the banner and handing it to her, "Prince Theodred has been slain on the field of battle!"

 **A/N: All right let's do some of these.**

 **Belemor - Yeah there's some things I regret about the whole "Evil Tyrion" saga, by that point I'd kind of written myself into a corner and there were other places I wanted Tyrion to go in this story since one of the major themes is redemption. If you read all the way to chapter 29 obviously there's a few other plot threads that are interesting you and I hope one disappointing climax doesn't ruin the whole story.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Cersei could probably learn to get along with Boromir but I have a hard time thinking she'd be able to share a bed with a guy who looks just like Ned Stark, it would just cause both of them a lot of tension and start things off rocky. Add that to his soldier-boy tendencies and there's not much of a chance they're going to get along well. As for Tywin Boromir's still unmarried and without an heir, so a Faramir match isn't too bad, especially since she's "used goods" and he's got other Lannisters floating around to marry off.**


	46. XLVI Gandalf the Grey

**XLVI**

 **Gandalf the Grey**

Shadowfax had taken two days of pursuit, another day of words and signs to tame him, but his speed was greater than any other horse Gandalf had ever ridden. At the Fords of Isen He'd ridden though the Uruk Hai and goblins holding his staff high, the foul creatures screeching and running from the light of the West. He desperately wished to do more for the men of Rohan, but there was far more at stake than the lives of a few thousand riders, he saw that they had fled through the gap he created, that would have to do for now.

He pressed northwards up the old road, _The Shire,_ he thought desperately, _I must reach the Shire_. He had long suspected Saruman wished for power beyond his station, and the Uruks flying the white hand standard had confirmed it. While distance protected the Shire from Sauron it would provide no such safety against the White Wizard, if Sauron had told Saruman of the ring's location… he spurred Shadowfax forward.

As he rode he thought briefly of Tyrion Lannister in Edoras, _He will need to make his own way for some time_ , the Wizard thought, _He is beyond his father's reach. That will have to be enough for now._ He'd felt great anguish in the man, anger and pain that had been warped by Sauron's rings into something terrible. He felt the ring even now in his pocket, one of the lesser rings to be sure, but not one that could be left in Gondor lest the Dark Lord find another agent. This one at least could not tempt him… he bore another in it's place.

He finally came close to Sarn Ford, in the light of day he could see many men working, this puzzled him, though he had expected to find rangers guarding the ford he was surprised to see this many, he noticed there were a number of Hobbits as well. They appeared to be setting some sort of foundation. A cry went up as they saw him and the assembled workers scrambled for weapons. The men he expected this from, but the hobbits... he saw one emerge from a small hut with a bow, fire in his eyes. He hadn't seen a hobbit so ready for violence since the quest with Bilbo all those years ago...

"Peace! It's Gandalf!" One of the rangers cried, there was something of a sigh of a relief and many put down their weapons and returned to work.

"Master Ranger," Gandalf called, riding close, "What is the meaning of this?" he gestured to the construction.

"We've been attacked," the man replied, "Uruk-Hai entered the Shire here and at the Brandywine. We don't know for sure yet but we've heard they hit Bree as well."

"What?!" Gandalf exclaimed, "How many? From where?"

"Perhaps a few hundred in total," the man replied, "From where I don't know, all I know is that they've been thrown back, there were a few that escaped into the Shire afterwards but they've all been hunted down by us or the hobbits."

 _If the orcs reached Bag End…_ "Do you know how far into the Shire they managed to get?"

The ranger shrugged, "Hobbiton at least, there's rumors that a few got as far as Michael Delving, but the hobbits are a bit tense right now, probably jumping at shadows." He pointed to the foundation, "Some of them are helping us build some fortifications here at the ford, it'll probably start with just a guardhouse, maybe a tower, but in time an entire keep might be built here."

"And the Mayor approved of this?" Gandalf asked, amazed.

The ranger snorted, "Approved? he all but demanded it, some of them showed up with carts full of stone before we'd even gotten back on our feet yet."

"Where is Strider?" Gandalf asked suddenly, _He'll know if they found the ring… he'll know what we need to do next._ "is he fortifying the Brandywine?"

"Strider's gone," The ranger replied, "He left on some secret business, there's a hobbit named Robin Smallburrow up by Brandywine Bridge. He was the last person to see Strider before he left."

 _If he's gone perhaps he's taken Frodo from the Shire,_ "I'm going to see Smallburrow," Gandalf announced, remounting Shadowfax.

"Go then, tell those at the bridge that Muradin says the work is coming along well." He paused a moment, "It's good to see you again Gandalf, evil stirs even here." Gandalf nodded with a smile before riding north. The old bloodlines were strong in the Dunedain that remained, perhaps there was still hope for the realms of men.

As he passed through the countryside he noticed a marked difference in demeanor of the hobbitry. It was almost like riding through the Shire in days of old, when the Long Winter and the Goblin Invasions forced them to find their courage and love for one another. Farmers were practicing archery in their fields, and he saw several hobbits practicing swordwork as well. Perhaps the most striking had been the village of Longbottom, in the town square a hobbit was giving a speech to a crowd of at least a hundred.

"You ask why we need to form a militia?" The hobbit said, balanced atop a chair to better see the crowd, "Glory? Ha! There's enough stories about what the lads in this town get up to on a drunken Yule night to last generations, bugger glory!" He shouted, a laugh went up from the crowd. "We must prepare to fight not so we are remembered in some song, some foolish elven tale, we will fight so that our children may be secure in their beds! So that we can drink in peace again!" Agreement went up from the crowd and the hobbit's voice built to a fever pitch, "The Bullroarer didn't care that that they wrote books about him, he cared that he could come back home, tuck in his son, and have a cold pint at his favorite tavern!" The crowd roared and young hobbits surged forward to sign some form in the speaker's hands, likely some militia rolls.

Gandalf smiled and rode on, _a sleeping hobbit has been awoken_ , he thought, _and filled with terrible resolve._ He passed further through the Shire, Shadowfax brought him quickly up the road to Frogmorton. The hobbits were pulling down a burnt building, and judging from the piled lumber next to it they were planning to rebuild it soon.

When he arrived at the Brandywine Bridge he saw that construction was underway on fortifications there as well. A wooden palisade had been erected with a gate watched by a pair of hobbit archers atop a wooden tower. Stone was being piled and Gandalf guessed that they planned to erect a stone fort like the one being built at the ford. Robin Smallburrow was giving instruction to a gathered group of perhaps a dozen hobbits, swinging and thrusting his sword. Gandalf had met the hobbit before during his visits to the Shire, but he seemed different now. There was a seriousness on his face and he seemed quite a bit leaner than Gandalf remembered.

"And then you have the option to go for the heart, the lungs, or the throat, depending on what's easiest for you," Smallburrow finished, sheathing his sword. He saw Gandalf watching them and smiled, "All right boys, pair up and spar, I've got to talk to the Wizard." The hobbits placed their steel swords on a cart and began picking up wooden practice swords piled next to it. Smallburrow motioned for Gandalf to follow him to a small building by the bridge which seemed to have been hastily thrown up. They entered and it was full of beds, a barracks of some sort, Smallburrow took a seat on one and Gandalf sat across from him. "So then, I don't suppose you're here to tell me what in the seven hells is going on?" Smallburrow asked with a smile.

"I'm afraid no-" he paused a moment, " _Seven Hells?_ That's an odd swear this far North…"

The Shirriff shrugged, "I suppose I've picked it up from Ser Clegane, I imagine he's involved in all this too isn't he?"

Gandalf frowned, "Ser Clegane? What is a Westerlands knight doing in this part of the world?"

Smallburrow sighed and began the story, telling of how the boy king had come searching for a ring, how he had been captured one night ransacking the Sackville-Baggins home, and how Ser Clegane had stayed behind rather than return with his former master.

"I suppose he had the wrong Baggins, when the orcs came they went straight for Hobbiton. They killed Lobelia and Lotho then they burned down the Sackville-Baggins home, I guess they didn't find what they wanted because they went to Frodo at Bag End next."

 _Frodo!_ "What happened?" Gandalf asked anxiously, "Frodo, is he… did he survive?"

Smallburrow nodded and Gandalf felt relief wash over him, "From what I've heard the ranger Strider and Ser Clegane arrived right in time to save Frodo and Samwise Gamgee, his gardener. They were too late to save Bag End though."

 _That will break Bilbo's heart,_ Gandalf thought sadly, "Where did Strider take them? Are they safe now?"

"Couldn't tell you," Smallburrow replied, "The six of them headed west over the Brandywine and that's the last I saw of them."

"Six?" Gandalf asked, puzzled.

The hobbit rolled his eyes, "Well there was Frodo, Sam, Clegane, and Strider, but then Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took ran off with them. We'd caught them in Farmer Maggot's fields the night before you see, and we were joking about having them tend to the crops the rest of the year, I think they didn't the joke very well and thought an adventure with Frodo and Sam sounded more appealing. Truthfully I could've used them, they held together well at the battle by Maggot's Farm."

 _They'll be heading to Rivendell then,_ he thought, "I thank you for your help Shirriff Smallburrow, your news has greatly eased my mind." He got up as if to leave.

"Now wait a minute!" Smallburrow protested, "I still haven't got any idea what I'm dealing with here! Whitfoot made me head Shirriff you know, and I don't know if there's going to be five more orcs or five hundred, or none at all!" He stood up, "It's not all swinging a sword around with the lads Gandalf, it's a lot of _work!_ I've got to make sure there's food for everyone, that the wood and stone are going where they're supposed to, that everyone's doing their duties." He sighed, "They left a lot of things out of the old tales of the Bullroarer evidently, I don't recall my father telling me how he argued over potato prices with farmers for a day so he could feed his soldiers."

"Those living a story often find it much different than reading one," Gandalf replied mildly, "As to whether there will be more orcs… I am afraid Master Shirriff that things will likely get worse before they get better. The final battle is coming soon, and all peoples of Middle Earth will have a part to play whether they would like it or not."

"I'd worried as much," the Shirriff said with a sigh, "What are we supposed to do?" he asked in despair, "There are no armies in the Shire, no kings to call on, no heroes of old to lead us in glorious charges into enemy lines…"  
"The heroes of old weren't always known as such," Gandalf said with a warm smile, "The Bullroarer was once just a hobbit trying his best to save those he loved from danger."

Smallburrow was quiet a moment, "Gandalf, I will be going to Bree soon with some of my militiamen and a few of the rangers. Queer tales come from the town, they say that gangs of ruffians moved in after the orcs attacked, that the orcs still lurk in the forest and attack all who resist these men. I mean to drive them out. Will you come with us?"

 _If only there were time,_ "I must ride on Strider's trail," he said firmly, "I cannot say why now, but it is of vital importance. I'm sorry but I cannot go with you."

He nodded, "I'd worried as much… still, between our boys and the rangers I believe we can settle whatever's going on over there. Over a hundred archers came down from Tookland, and I've got fifty boys here I've been teaching some basic swordplay, we'll have a few dozen rangers with us too."

"A good start," Gandalf said, "I'm sure more will flock to your banner when word spreads that you've liberated Bree."

"Banner?" Smallburrow said with a snort, "I'm just a Shirriff, there haven't been banners in the Shire since… well I couldn't even tell you when!"

Gandalf opened the door to leave, "Well you'd best get to designing one master Shirriff, you may find in time that the people of Bree are not the only ones who would call on you for aid." With that he walked outside to Shadowfax and rode across the Brandywine Bridge in pursuit of Aragorn.


	47. XLVII The Steward

**XLVII**

 **The Steward**

It had been a decade or more since Denethor had worn his full armor, it was snugger around his waist and heavier than he remembered, but he believed it would make him look suitably impressive for when the Lannister army arrived. He stood atop the outer wall now, the work on the Rammas Echor had been underway for years now, but he'd had workers diverted from the North end for a few days to make sure the remaining work on the walls near the gate was completed. He wanted Tywin Lannister to march through a shining white gate, not a crumbling grey one.

"Here they come now," Boromir said, pointing the standards coming up the road. His son was wearing his finest armor as well, the two of them were watching the approaching Lannister army from atop the gate, a number of other men bearing the standard of Gondor behind them. "Will Lord Tywin be at the front of the column?"

"Father usually moves in the center of his army, Jaime would prefer to lead given the choice, but I don't think he'll be far from Father today," Cersei said from his left. The woman had insisted on accompanying them down to the wall in Faramir's place.

"I am sure he will react to news of your engagement with just as much joy as I have," Denethor replied cooly. He had been surprised to hear that the Queen Mother and his son had agreed to be married, even more surprised to hear that Faramir had left on a "secret mission" to spy on Mordor apparently with his future wife's blessing. He suspected the Wizard was involved, but Boromir would say no more and Cersei just repeated the same lies.

"Indeed, such love as ours is like something out of a tale," she said sweetly, moving closer to the ramparts. She was wearing a shining golden cuirass that was for show more than protection, he was dismayed to see that she'd added a pair of white tree badges to her shoulders, likely in "honor" of Faramir. "My sons Joffrey and Tommen will be sent for as soon as this fighting is over, I'm sure Faramir will take well to them."

 _This war is unlikely to end anytime soon_ , He thought, _And if your sons take after their mother then perhaps Faramir will find his duties bringing him to Casterly Rock rather than Minas Tirith._ The woman thought herself clever, but she'd just been swept up in another of Faramir's flights of fancy.

The army reached the walls and the gates creaked open beneath them. True to Cersei's words the front rank of knights were all bearing standards he didn't recognize, meaning they were likely lower ranking houses. After some time the large golden lions of House Lannister appeared, riding in the center was a man Denethor presumed to be Lord Tywin himself, decked in red and golden armor with roaring lions on the shoulders. He recognized Jaime Lannister, wearing his golden plate, riding just behind him. He lifted his hand in a quick gesture and the men assembled atop the gate cheered, the old lion slowed slightly and waved, though he did not smile. Their eyes met briefly before Tywin rode under the gate himself.

Denethor stayed until the remaining men had marched through and then he, Boromir, and Cersei walked down to the gatehouse stables where a carriage had been prepared. The army was to march past Minas Tirith and through the East gate in the great walls where a camp had been prepared outside of Osgiliath for the army. There were several reasons for the choice of site, it would allow easy access to the ruined city, it would provide the army water from the Anduin, and it would separate the men from the townships inside the outer walls and the city of Minas Tirith itself. Though Osgiliath was a ruined city long abandoned it still contained a number of intact buildings, one of which would serve as lodgings for the higher ranking lords of both armies.

They followed the army through the fields, he pulled back the curtain to see thousands of people gathered at the ramparts of Minas Tirith on all levels. Even from this distance he could hear a faint cheering, and there were flower petals being dropped from the higher levels onto the lower ones.

 _It's good to see the people feel something like hope again,_ he thought. He turned his mind to the coming battle. He had seen reinforcements march through the black gate when viewing the Palantir, Easterlings from the look of them, and one of the more well equipped and trained warbands to boot. The rangers of Ithilien had informed him that the army gathered at Minas Morgul was preparing to march, their numbers would be close to seventy thousand. Between Tywin's army and what forces had been brought up from Southern Gondor they would be met by nearly forty thousand men defending the city. _Let them come,_ he thought, between their armies and the fortifications he was confident that the forces of Mordor would be repulsed.

After some time they passed through the gates on the other side of the Pelennor fields. He'd had his men create something of a road between the site he'd chosen for the Westermen and the city proper. While the larger part of the army split off and marched to the campsite another group, perhaps five thousand or so and containing most of the higher ranked nobles, marched into Osgiliath.

The three of them left the carriage and entered a domed building that they would be staying in. It had served as a palace for some nobleman or another in days past when the city had teemed with life. It suited their needs perfectly, it was large enough to house perhaps two or three hundred people, it was grand enough to entertain foreign nobility, and it was close enough to the westernmost edge of the city that evacuation would be simple if it came to that. He'd ordered a room prepared for Tywin specifically on the top floor of the palace. He was waiting with Jaime when they arrived.

He stood up and held out a hand, "Lord Denethor I presume?"

He clasped Tywin's hand and the two men shook, each squeezing the other's palm hard, "Well met Lord Tywin Lannister, I am Denethor the second, Son of Ecthelion, Steward of the Throne of Gondor." He motioned to Boromir, "This is my son, Boromir, Captain of Gondor and leader of our armies."

Tywin raised an eyebrow but nodded, "I'm sure my children have told you this but you look very much like a younger-"

"Ned Stark, I know," he said with a small smile, "I've heard that several times now." Boromir bowed, "it's an honor Lord Tywin." He smiled and turned to Jaime, "Good to see you again Jaime, how's the shoulder?"

"Stronger than ever," the younger Lannister replied with a grin, "Probably ready to take you on again whenever you're up for it."

"Cersei," Tywin said, "I'm glad to find you safe as well, where is Myrcella?"

Cersei smiled but she seemed somewhat flustered, "I did not want to expose her to the… atmosphere, of an army encampment." She paused a moment, "How are my sons? Tommen? And… and Joffrey? How is Joffrey?"

Tywin was quiet a moment before speaking, "Tommen is practicing the sword under Ser Benedict Broom, he is taking well to it and has the makings of a natural swordsman. He has become fast friends with his cousins Willem and Tyrek, I can assure you he is quite happy." He sighed, "Joffrey remains… _ill_ and unable to leave his quarters." Cersei nodded, lips pursed, before moving to pour herself a cup of wine from a pitcher that had been left in the room by the servants.

Once she had her drink her eyes met Denethor's and then darted to Boromir, _Wondering which of us will tell him of the engagement then._ He thought. _I suppose I'll get it into the open._

"Lord Tywin there is some… news, you should be aware of."

"Oh?" he asked, Cersei saw where the conversation was headed and cut him off.

"The steward's son Faramir and I have agreed to be married," she said with a smile.

"Indeed?" Tywin asked, somewhat shocked, "Lord Denethor is this true?"

He nodded, "It is, the two of them agreed to it without my knowledge."

Tywin looked at Boromir a moment, "Cersei, are you certain that particular arrangement is the most… fruitful choice?"

"The two of us have grown quite close," she said with a smile, "and after the way things have gone there could be… scandal, if we weren't married."

"Evidently there are rumors that they have been… intimate," Denethor said with annoyance. In truth he'd hoped for a marriage between Boromir and Cersei as well.

Tywin sighed, "Very well, where is Faramir? Does my future son in law fear to face me?"

Boromir stepped forward, "Faramir is… away, on a mission to spy on the enemy."

"That seems awfully convenient," Tywin growled.

"It's true father!" Cersei insisted, "He came to tell me of it before he left, so that I wouldn't worry at his absence."

They were all quiet for a moment before Tywin spoke, "I suppose when the war is concluded wedding arrangements will be made… I will pay for the festivities of course Lord Denethor."

He nodded, "Very generous of you Lord Tywin, though before we plan a wedding I fear we must plan a battle."

"How long can until the attack comes?" Tywin asked, suddenly all business, "What kind of numbers can we expect?"

"The attack will come within the week by all accounts," Denethor replied, "As to numbers I believe there are anywhere from fifty to sixty thousand orcs and perhaps a third as many men of Rhun."

Tywin nodded grimly, "Outnumbered then… these orcs, I have only seen their corpses, savage as they may be they are small and not worth as much as a man on the field of battle. The men of Rhun, I've heard little of them, are they skilled warriors?"

"A few of them were present during the… incident," Jaime said quietly.

"Your brother's attempt on your life you mean?" Tywin asked sarcastically.

Jaime glared at him but continued, "They seemed skilled enough, but not beyond any knight of the Westerlands."

"They are fierce to be sure, and some of Mordor's finest soldiers," Denethor said, "But their smiths aren't half as skilled as our own, and they do not inspire the same terror in men as a rampaging horde of orcs does."

"Do you believe this army will try to storm Osgiliath?" Tywin asked curiously, "Even with such numbers it seems like folly."

"I do," Denethor replied, "Mordor has not come against us in such strength in centuries, I fear there is some greater purpose than a mere attempt to take these fortifications, though I do not see it."

Jaime shrugged, "Well we won't let them cross here so it makes no difference what their goal might be. We've assembled one of the finest armies in the world here, prince Rhaegar himself would turn tail and flee before it."

Tywin stroked his chin, "Lord Denethor when will we call for a war council?"

"Tomorrow morning if that suits you," he replied, "Give your men a night to rest from their travels, I doubt they will have much opportunity to do so in the days ahead."

Tywin nodded, "I will inform my bannermen."

"Well if that's concluded, what say we set up a practice yard Boromir?" Jaime asked with a grin, "I've been riding for some time and I need to stretch my arms a bit."

Boromir looked to his father a moment, and Denethor sighed, "Go," he said with a gesture. The two swordsmen left together and Cersei got up to follow them. "Lady Cersei, will you be returning to Minas Tirith?" he asked.

"I will stay here in Osgiliath at least for tonight," she said with a smile, "It will inspire the men to see me… and I would spend some time with my family before war calls them away again."

"Very well," he replied, "quarters can be arranged, speak with one of the servants on your way out." She left, a smug smile on her face, leaving Tywin and Denethor alone. The two men regarded each other a moment.

"Is Faramir truly away on some mission?" Tywin asked suddenly.

Denethor sighed, "I do not believe he is, I think he is on some fool's errand for the Wizard Gandalf."

"Wizards," Tywin spat, "Gandalf is the same one who spirited Tyrion away is he not?"

"He is," Denethor replied nodding, _though in that at least he was perhaps correct._

"They are creatures of foul sorcery like Sauron is said to be," Tywin remarked, "I suspect they may even be his heralds, come to our lands to weaken us."

"Gandalf… whatever he may be he is no ally of the Dark Lord's," Denethor replied slowly, "He seeks to use Gondor as a shield to protect the other lands of the world from Sauron, he cares little for the blood of the men spilled to this end."

"If you say so…" Tywin said quietly, "Saruman the white is certainly not be trusted. When he came to Casterly Rock he used some magic to twist men's minds, even my own. I had him expelled from the court."

"I have not seen Saruman the White since I was a young boy, so I cannot say much about him," Denethor replied mildly, "I am sure you made the right decision."

"The ships that have been raiding your southern coast," Tywin said, changing the subject, "I know who leads them."

Denethor raised an eyebrow, "Really? A rogue Westerlands lord perhaps?"

"Hardly," Tywin replied through gritted teeth, "The golden kraken on a black field is the sigil of House Greyjoy, pirates and reavers of the Iron Islands. It seems one of them came with us during the Arrival and has fallen in with the men of Umbar." Denethor could see that his fist was clenched now, "I believe it is Victarion Greyjoy, he is the only one of that family who could have been in our waters at the time. He burned our fleet at anchor during his brother's rebellion against the crown… I relish the opportunity to repay the favor. A Lannister always pays his debts Lord Denethor."

"So what would you suggest?" He asked, "we cannot spare the men to attack Umbar right now, even with your help."

"Lord Roland Crakehall has gathered our fleet and sails for Dol Amroth," Tywin replied, "if we force a battle with our combined navies we will have the strength of numbers and this pirate fleet can be dealt with once and for all."

"It will be done then," Denethor replied, "If Lord Crakehall is willing to follow our fleet we can bottle them in the Haven of Umbar and either keep them out of the war or sink them outright."

Tywin nodded, "Good, we can make formal plans at another time. If you'll excuse me I must see to my men." He got up and left.

 _I should inspect our defenses as well,_ He thought, walking down the stairs and out of the palace. When he walked outside he saw the darkened skies above Mordor lit by volcanic eruptions, the fires always seemed to glow brighter before attacks came.

 **A/N: Accidental reference to Theoden as Eowyn's father has been corrected.**

 **U.N.S. - Don't worry you'll see some Easterlings**

 **Weylandcorp 4 - I don't know if I'd call them militarized, they're more like the American colonists shortly after the Boston Massacre. I don't think Jaime's joining the Fellowship, he's too far from Rivendell and there's a war on. He'll definitely run into various Fellowship members over the course of the story though.**

 **Kendog52361 - I imagine he would especially since the lost line of kings is almost mythical at this point. Of course by the time Aragorn declares himself openly the situation has become pretty desperate anyways.**


	48. XLVIII The Old Lion

**XLVIII**

 **The Old Lion**

Tywin had commanded at many battles throughout his life, but few on the defense. He'd learned some of the difficulties of city fighting firsthand during the Sack of King's Landing, but there had been few earnest defenders there. Denethor and he had spent an entire morning discussing the best strategy with the commanders of both armies. Though at one time three bridges had spanned the Anduin connecting the two halves of Osgiliath the passage of time and long ago battles had left only the southernmost crossing intact. The gate facing the enemy's approach had long ago been destroyed, a flimsy wooden one stood there now, but it would not hold against any determined attack, and even the smallest battering rams would easily bring it down. The walls were likewise in poor repair, there were several gaps wide enough for as many as ten men to walk through standing side by side.

It had been clear to him on the first inspection of the defenses that it would be impossible to hold the entire city in a sustained siege, the battle would be fought in the streets and in the buildings. He and Denethor had agreed to a defensive line marked by the southernmost channel cutting through the Eastern half of the city. There were three bridges crossing this channel, all of which were within easy reach of each other and flanked by numerous buildings which would have crossbowmen in every window and archers on each rooftop.

He, Denethor, and Boromir, rode with a small party of guards to the first of the bridges now. The sound of hammers striking stone echoed through the city. Tywin had brought a team of sappers and in conjunction with some of Denethor's construction crews they were tearing down buildings near the bridge crossings to give archers a better opportunity to fire upon approaching enemies.

Denethor watched solemnly as one three story stone structure caved inward, it's support columns hammered away, "You know in my youth I'd thought that I would be the one to end all this, to make Osgiliath safe for people to live in again… now here I am, an old man tearing it's palaces down."

"In my youth I thought I would live out my days serving as the hand of my friend King Aerys Targaryen," Tywin said grimly. The structure now had only it's walls standing, and those were being pulled down by a party of men with ropes and large steel hooks. "Few men live the lives they thought they would as boys, else the world would be populated by solely knights and heroes." The men were on the final wall now, a large window on what had been the top floor had a beautiful stained glass window depicting one man kneeling before another wearing a crown.

"True enough," Denethor replied with a sigh. "I have read of your house Lord Tywin, of you… did you ever regret any of it? The things you had to do to return House Lannister to prominence?"

"I find this question in poor taste," he growled, "But the answer is no. Though I often regretted that certain events came to pass," _Aerys…_ the name flittered through his mind and then was gone, "I never regretted the decisions I made in response to them." With a great heave the men brought down the wall, he saw the stained glass window break on the stone street with a shattering sound as the men cheered. "Respect and glory are more important than the methods through which they are attained. Let men speak poorly of my deeds in hushed tones on dark nights if they like, none will dare say such things in the light of day."

"Pleasant conversation," Boromir muttered, then louder, "As you can see Lord Tywin we've cleared the roads, the cavalry will have full use of every street and alley."

"Good," he said nodding, "Where is Jaime?"

"He's overseeing the far barricade construction, I think Cersei is with him."

"Is she now?" he hadn't been entirely pleased with Cersei's decision to stay in the city until the battle began, she had been unpredictable of late and she overestimated her own cunning. Still the soldiers seemed inspired by her presence, and Denethor had sent a pair of guards to guide her on a tour of some of the more impressive sights remaining in Osgiliath.

The party came to the far barricade where a number of men were stacking stone and placing pikes into the ground facing north. Jaime was there, wearing his golden armor and looking quite bored. Cersei was alongside him, atop a horse with a small parasol and four redcloaks.

"Jaime!" Boromir yelled with a smile, "How are things going here?"

"Well enough," Jaime replied, "We'll have this area ready by the end of the day. A few hundred men here could hold off ten thousand."

"Good, they may need to," Denethor said grimly.

"Surely it won't be as bad as all that?" Cersei asked. The glares of all four men seemed to answer the question.

The rest of the preparations went smoothly over the next few days. The buildings on the far side of the channel were all brought down and the rubble cleared as much as possible to allow for the archers to pick off approaching enemies. On the sand bars and small isles nearest to the East bank trebuchets were erected which could bombard nearly anywhere in the city where the battle would be taking place. Great pyres were built on the rooftops of the remaining buildings that wouldn't be garrisoned, by all accounts the attack would come sometime during the night, and he wanted his men to have visibility. When the enemy entered the city Timett's clansmen would light each of the pyres before retreating to the city docks where they would await their own part in the battle. Torches had been set everywhere they could be set, and between the fires and the waxing moon even a battle in the dead of night would be fought in light as bright as day.

Finally word came from the rangers in Ithilien that the enemy army was on the move. It was a mere two days march from Minas Morgul to Osgiliath, and the men scrambled to finish their preparations. Tywin watched it all from the great tower standing on the final bridge spanning the Anduin. The top of the tower bore a great domed observation area from which the entire city could be seen, and with the demolished buildings it was possible to directly observe the barricades where the battle would mostly be fought. He'd had a great Myrish spyglass brought with him from Casterly Rock, mounted on a bronze tripod it was arranged in the corner of the tower. A number of large signal flags were stacked in the corner, depending on which one was flown they could mean anything from retreat to calling more reserve troops from the other side of the river.

Boromir and Jaime each commanded at one of the barricades below. The third had been a subject of some discussion, but he'd finally persuaded Denethor to let Addam Marbrand take command in light of the Westerlands larger manpower contribution to the battle. Though there had initially been worries about merging the chain of command for the two armies the few exercises they had found time to do together had gone relatively smoothly.

It was near midnight now, though he felt wide awake. He had gone to bed early in the evening before with the hopes of being fresh and ready for when the enemy arrived, most of the men waiting now in the streets had done so as well.

The torches of Mordor's army could be seen from the tower now, and he knew that the estimates had not been far off. At least seventy thousand orcs and men marched against them, their torches lighting the night sky. He saw his own men's lights dotting the ruins, and finally the large bonfires going up as the first group of enemies passed the ruined walls.

"Has it begun?" he turned to see that Denethor had arrived, flanked by a pair of Gondorian royal guards, their winged silver helmets shining in the fire lit night.

"The first group has passed the walls, see for yourself," he gestured to the spyglass and Denethor approached it and looked outward. Tywin leaned over the rampart to watch himself. The orcs, perhaps two thousand of them, had reached the first barricade and were being bombarded by archers from across the channel. They fell in great numbers and less than half made it to the barricade before being cut down by waiting swordsmen. He heard a small cheer go up when the last of them was killed.

The main bulk of the enemy's army was arriving in the city now, he saw one group moving towards the riverfront only to scurry back in fear as the trebuchets began launching enormous stones in their direction. Several were not quick enough and Tywin watched with satisfaction while a score of orcs was crushed by the missile's impact.

"That could be a problem there," Denethor said, pointing to the barricade closest to them. Tywin looked down to see a group of armored figures with great shields coming together in a square formation, holding the shields high and to the sides they slowly moved forward, the bolts and arrows raining down glancing off the curved steel. "Easterlings, they're going to be some of the more heavily armored fighters down there. If they reach the barricades they may force a breach."

Tywin nodded, "That formation needs to be broken." He gestured for one of the pages to lower a signal flag before looking back out to the battle. Faintly he heard a war cry and he could see the mountain clansmen appearing out of the shadows on the far side of the river. Though there were only a few dozen of them their sudden appearance so close caused panic in the Easterling ranks and the formation quickly moved to counter an attack, but rather than engage them the clansmen killed only the few closest men before fleeing again, the Easterlings being too slow to pursue the men armored only in furs and leather.

With the shields lowered volleys came down on them from every group of archers within range. In desperation one of the Easterlings, carrying a banner Tywin could see even from this distance, tried to lead them forward before a crossbow bolt arced from somewhere into his faceplate. The Easterlings withdrew to a line buildings, Tywin saw hundreds of bodies left behind.

"What of those men?" Denethor said, "Are they not trapped on the wrong side of the channel?" As if echoing the Steward's words a horde of orcs swarmed in the direction the clansmen had come from, judging from the howls which echoed over the city they were in a state of almost mad rage.

"There are boats down at the dock for them," Tywin replied dismissively, "They'll flee there and then row downriver and back behind our lines."

A short time later a small party of men entered his command area led by Amory Lorch. He recognized a few of the Mountain's men and recalled that he had put Lorch in charge of the Clegane levys in the absence of a ruler of the keep.

"My Lord," the fat little knight said eagerly, "We sent a few men over the barricades and we caught one of the fellows in the fancy armor!" He gestured and an Easterling soldier, a crossbow bolt sticking out of his leg, was ushered forward. "I'd thought I'd bring him here for… questioning." Lorch's piggy eyes glimmered cruelly. Tywin regarded the captive, knowing that he had to be in terrible pain but yet was remaining silent through some mix of hate and force of will.

"Very well, but go downstairs." Lorch grinned and with a bark began forcing the man to the lower level.

"I'll go with him," Denethor said, "They'll need someone who speaks the Eastern tongue."

"I wouldn't if I were you," Tywin replied, "Send a page. Lorch's work can often be unpleasant to witness." Denethor seemed uncomfortable at the implication but gestured for one of his assistants to go while staying quiet.

A sudden roar turned his attention back to the battlefield, he and Denethor rushed back to the overlook to see a party of four monstrous creatures that he knew from Denethor's descriptions to be trolls. Tywin felt a sudden spark of panic as he realized they were headed towards the central barricade where Jaime commanded. His hands gripped the railing of the tower tightly as he watched the arrows tear into the creatures, one gave a great deep moan and then fell, the other three descended on the barricade with large hammers in hand.

He moved to the spyglass and frantically looked below for a golden armored figure, the trolls were now smashing the barricade to pieces and any man who rushed forward to try to stop them was tossed high in the air by a swing of those terrible hammers. Suddenly he saw Jaime rushing forward, sword in hand. His heart skipped a beat as the hammer swung towards him, but his son ducked under it and then leapt to the side as the hammer came down again. With a quick fluid motion he saw Jaime run Brightroar across the beast's stomach, spilling it's intestines on the ground and causing the creature to howl with pain. The remaining two turned and began chasing Jaime down the street, but men had gathered with pikes now and rushed towards the Trolls, stabbing at them from all angles until they dropped. He breathed a sigh of relief.

The orcs were flowing in a mass through the ruined barricade now, no amount of arrows and bolts stopping them. He knew there were armored swordsmen in each of the buildings that could hold them for a time, but the leak needed to be plugged. Another signal flag dropped and a column of heavy cavalry charged up the street, the infantry quickly scurrying into alleys to make way. They met the orcs like a tidal wave, sweeping them aside and forcing them to flee. A group of perhaps two or three hundred Easterlings had gathered their own pikemen and formed a wall of jagged metal on the other side of the channel, but the horsemen had no intention of crossing it anyway. The lead knights veered around in a great loop and gathered in an open area that long ago had been some manner of garden park, as they did so the infantry returned and by the time any of the orcs or Easterlings could react the barricade had been retaken.

"If this is all that the land of Mordor can send forth then this battle is all but won," Tywin remarked.

Denethor came to his side and nodded, looking over the carnage below, "They have sustained heavy losses true, but the battle is not over yet."

Suddenly Tywin saw his men pulling back from the defenses, "What in the seven hells are they doing?" he shouted. _Those fools will cost us this battle, what-_

A sudden screech echoed over the battlefield that made him feel as though there were a block of ice in the pit of his stomach.

"We've got to go, _Now."_ Denethor said suddenly, his face white. "Sound the retreat, we'll destroy the bridge once we're on the far side."

"Absolutley not," Tywin said, regaining his composure, "This is some trick of the mind, some illusion!"

The men below were panicking and fleeing back towards the bridge now, he saw the rooftop archers abandoning their posts and from the lower level windows men jumped from their hiding places to join the panicked mass scrambling backwards.

"This is no trick…" Denethor almost whispered. "Boromir!" he said suddenly, drawing his sword, "I've got to find Boromir!"

"Where are you going, this can still be salvaged!" Tywin yelled, but Denethor and his men had already begun their hurried descent down the tower staircase. He growled angrily and looked at the assembled guards in the tower, who were looking at him curiously. "Come," he said simply, "let us go see what can be done…"

When he emerged from the tower it was chaos, thousands of men were attempting to flee across the bridge, knights, peasant levies, riderless horses, all ran together in a chaotic throng. He saw several men trampled underneath the mob when they slowed or tripped.

"Father!" he turned to see Jaime standing near him, his face as pale white as Denethor's had been.

"What happened?" He yelled angrily.

"We've got to go, he's coming!" Jaime said anxiously.

"I don't care if the Stranger himself is coming you will rally your men and hold our defenses!"

Jaime seemed embarrassed and then appeared to collect himself, "M-Men of the Westerlands!" he shouted hesitantly, then with growing boldness, "To me! Hold the bridge!"

Tywin drew his own sword and joined his son in yelling, "Hold the bridge! To me!" some of the men, perhaps a hundred in all, turned to follow them against the tide of the crowd back towards the fortifications that had been prepared at the end of the bridge. Tywin saw with dismay that orcs were already climbing over and through the gaps. They'd come through the other side of the retreat now, and he looked back in dismay to see his army still fleeing without even looking back at them. _If we can retake and hold those defenses for even a quarter of an hour those men will come back and this battle will be saved._

The first orcs met them and he blocked one of the small creature's swings before bringing his sword down on it's ugly head. He hadn't personally killed a foe since the Reyne-Tarbeck rebellion, but he was still a fair swordsman even now.

The party slowly advanced, it looked like the foe was attempting to root out the remaining men in the buildings across the river, so the bulk of their force hadn't yet come to the bridge. He looked to his side to see Jaime cutting down orc after orc as they drew closer to the bridge barricade, his fluid motions effortlessly blocking and moving around their wild attacks, the fires of the night reflecting off his golden armor.

"I will have any man that flees flayed alive!" He shouted angrily.

Suddenly it seemed as though all sound stopped, and Tywin found himself breathless. A great black horse trotted slowly through the barricade, it's rider was a black cloaked figure that even in the dark of night seemed to absorb all light around him. He wore a great hooded cloak over silver mail, and though his face was obscured Tywin could see a pair of horrible fiery red eyes glaring back at him. His mouth open in shock absently he raised his sword. The figure saw this and laughed.

 _"Burzum agh ghâsh,"_ his voice was terrible, the sound of a dead tree snapping in winter under the weight of too much ice, Tywin watched in horror as his sword seemed to crumble away like a dry leaf and blow away on the wind.

"Gods above…" he whispered, staring at his ruined blade. Idly he felt pain in his side and realized that one of the orcs had taken advantage of his shock to stab him in his side. He stumbled backward a few paces until he fell, his back against the wall of the bridge.

Sound returned slowly and looking around he saw that the men were fleeing, their swords had been broken too it seemed, and the terror of the black rider overrode anything Tywin could threaten to do to them. He lay there, clutching the wound in his side, taking rasping breaths as he watched the cloaked figure dismount and walk towards him. That laughter made him close his eyes in fear again, and when he opened them he looked up to see those red orbs staring down at him, a sword in their owner's hand.

" _Tywin Lannister…"_ it rasped, " _Seldom do I have the pleasure of meeting so esteemed a lord,"_ the orcs laughed at this and he raised the blade high. Tywin shut his eyes tight, waiting for the final blow. Instead he heard a sudden howl of pain, opening his eyes he saw Jaime, his golden armor now scratched and dented, cutting his way through the circle of orcs.

"Father!" He shouted, plunging Brightroar through the heart of another of the beasts, "Hold on I'm coming!"

With a gesture from the hooded figure the orcs fell back, leaving Jaime facing him, _"Jaime Lannister, your brother said you were a fool and it seems he was right."_ Jaime hesitated, his eyes were wide with fear and for a moment Tywin believed he would run, but then he gripped his sword tightly and adopted a fighting stance. A cocky grin full of false bravado lit up his face.

"I'm not half as smart as Tyrion true, but you'll find no man is my equal with a blade. Stand aside." The being, for Tywin was sure now that it was no man, just chuckled, each laugh causing the wound in his side to throb.

" _No man is your equal, but no man can slay me. You are a knight of Summer Jaime Lannister, and Winter is coming."_ The black rider rushed forward.

 **A/N: I made a map of this battle too but since I can't link it here you'll have to go to the Spacebattles Creative Writing Forum thread to see it. It's threadmarked for easy access. Like all the maps if you're too lazy to seek it out you can probably live without it.**


	49. XLIX The Golden Knight

**XLIX  
The Golden Knight  
**

 _"You are a knight of Summer Jaime Lannister, and Winter is Coming"_ the words almost shattered what little resolve had forced him back to his father's side. The hooded thing glided towards him with such speed that he almost didn't raise his blade to block the attack in time. His instincts took over and he shifted the blade to the side, a sudden whirring sound shocked him, as did a strange numbness in the tip of his fingers. He watched in amazement as a shower of green sparks followed the other blade as it contacted the length of the Brightroar.

In his stupor he didn't notice the hand of the dark figure darting out and grabbing his helm. Before he could so much as struggle it was physically ripped from his armor and he felt a steel boot slam into his stomach. He felt the wind in his hair as he lay on the stone looking up at the dark rider. His helmet was shriveling now as the men's swords had, and the mailed hand crushed the steel as a man would an egg.

He's merely toying with me, the thought terrified him even more and as he rose to his feet he considered running… No, he will run me down. The orcs were laughing now, and he saw a few moving towards his father, who had stopped moving. As if sensing his thoughts and despair the thing in the black cloak laughed that horrible laugh again.

 _"You stand before the Lord of the Nazgûl. As no man can slay me no more can any man hinder me. You have thrown your life away this day."_

In that moment he felt fear and doubt welling within him in a way that he hadn't felt since he was a small boy. He gripped his sword tightly and desperately thought of ways he could escape. The Nazgul walked towards him again.

Suddenly there was a roar from behind them, he turned to see the Mountain Clansmen coming over the barricades in the same way the orcs had before, Timett at the lead howling like a madman as he brought an axe down on a surprised orc.

 _How?!_ He thought, but then _The boats!_ _They must have come back to cover the retreat!_

"Timett!" He yelled as loud as he could, the clan chief's head jerked towards him and his remaining eye went wide seeing the black robed monstrosity bearing down on him. He pointed towards his father, "Get him out of here!" Timett nodded and moved with several men towards Tywin while the clansmen engaged the orcs on the bridge.

The lord of the Nazgul turned to deal with the newcomers. _They'll need to come by him to get father away, he realized._

"Where are you going?!" he shouted, "No man can slay you? Ha! You're nothing before me! The leavings from a chamberpot! The-"

The figure had turned back around now, Jaime saw darkness creep into the edge of his vision and felt his heart slow until each beat was like a hammer dropping. The fires of the city seemed to flare higher but all he felt was cold. Jaime ran, and he felt the terror and chill following behind him.

He looked frantically for a place to hide, but the bridge had been cleared of debris to make the men's movements easier. A shriek rang out behind him and in spite of his growing fatigue he pushed himself to run faster.

Suddenly just when he thought he could run no more he saw the tower on the side of the bridge where his father had commanded from. He frantically rushed inside, barring the door. He took a moment to catch his breath but he did not have long for the door exploded inward, sending pieces of wood flying into the room.

The Nazgul entered silently, sword held in front of it. Gulping Jaime looked around for another exit but saw only the staircase to the higher levels. He ran up the first flight of stairs and was shocked to hear a familiar voice.

"Ser Jaime! What in the seven hells is going on?" Amory Lorch was barricaded behind an overturned table, a loaded crossbow in hand. Jaime noticed a dead Easterling in the other corner of the room, likely a victim of Lorch's "interrogation."

"Hide! When he's passed get the hell out of here!" he yelled.

"Everyone left! Who's going to-" the chill filled the room and Jaime continued fleeing without bothering to talk to the fat knight any longer. Behind him he heard Lorch's high pitched scream until it was cut off by a wet crunching sound.

He continued up the staircase, he saw a loose stone railing and turned to push it down the stairs, but though several rocks the size of a man's head struck the dark figure pursuing him none slowed him or staggered him in the least. Finally he came to the top level of the tower, the great open viewing deck where his father had been commanding the battle.

 _No escape now_ , he turned to face his death as the Nazgul reached the top of the staircase. He backed away instinctively until he was at the edge of the tower balcony. He looked down to see the clansmen retreating as the full weight of the enemy's numbers began to bear down on them. He saw two carrying a figure he hoped was his father.

Dawn broke suddenly, the light coming over the black mountains to the east and pouring across the battlefield. One of the golden rays of light landed on Jaime and for a moment he felt warmth return to his spirit.

Surprising his pursuer he rushed forward, roaring like a lion. His dread foe raised his sword and the blades met in another shower of green sparks, the strange vibrating sound echoing through the tower each time they struck at each other.

His offensive ended quickly, the black rider was too fast and even with the extra reach afforded by the greatsword he found it impossible to force an opening. Though he now fought with greater speed and strength than at any time in his life he was still forced to fall back towards the balcony. The sun was climbing higher now, shining through the volcanic ash and gloom of Mordor in a brilliant red and gold sunrise.

A cheer went up from somewhere below the bridge and he realized that the men on the far side of the river were watching his duel with the lord of the Nazgul, rallying even as orcs and Easterlings began to pour over the bridge. He moved away from the edge, but not before seeing one rider, a white tree standard held high, riding against the tide of enemies cutting down all in his way.

The fight moved back inside the tower, and he felt himself tiring and wondering how much longer he could hold off this foe. The very air this thing breathed was a toxic vapor, and when it drew close he felt the fatigue in his muscles deepen, his breaths harder, and the shadows of death at the corner of his eyes danced. They broke again, circling each other, and he found his breath coming in hacking coughs. What warmth and courage he'd felt from the sun vanished as he struggled to regain his breath, he wondered if he would be able to raise his sword at all.

"Jaime!" a sudden voice startled him and both he and the Nazgul's heads jolted in the direction it came from. Boromir stood there, his cloak torn and blood on his sword. The Nazgul shrieked and though Boromir closed his eyes and gritted his teeth he did not flee.

There was a sudden crashing sound of stone on stone and Jaime saw below that the trebuchets, ignored by the enemy army, had begun loosing stones on the bridge in an effort to destroy it. The cloaked figure of the Nazgul ran to the edge of the balcony, ignoring both of them, but stopped when it was perched on the ledge overlooking the bridge.

He turned back briefly to Jaime and his blue eyes met the cruel red fires of the Nazgul, _"Know well your doom Jaime Lannister. Though this was your hour mine is yet to come. We will meet only once more, when the nations of men again call you Kingslayer."_ With that he leapt from the tall tower. Jaime summoned the courage to run to the balcony to see where he'd fallen, but below he saw only nine black ridings racing across the bridge, crossing just before a series of stones crashed into it bringing the middle section down. Even though there were only nine riders he saw the forces on the opposite end of the bridge scattering before them.

He breathed a sigh of relief which quickly turned into a sputtering cough. His vision was growing narrow now and his fingertips felt numb. He collapsed against the railing, staring at the sunrise. He felt despair welling within him. _In my finest hour I was no match for him, what can men do against such hate?_ He closed his eyes, _What point is there in going on any further?_ He felt the tendrils of sleep begin to take him…

"JAIME!" the shout startled him back to the land of the living. "Jaime are you all right? I see no wounds…"

"That… that thing Boromir, there's no way to defeat it," he muttered.

"The Witch King himself," Boromir replied grimly, "but he is gone now, we must see to ourselves." The two of them looked below to see the enemy army roaring with rage at the destruction of the bridge. One of the Easterling groups on the bridge itself pointed up at them and they began marching towards the tower.

Boromir ran to the other edge looking down, "Jaime, how good of a swimmer are you?"

"Fair enough but I'm spent," he replied with a wheeze, "I… I can't make that swim Boromir, go without me."

Boromir had already begun pulling his own armor off, "Nonsense, you'll find your strength."

"There is none left," he protested.

Boromir sighed and walked back over to him. He was down to a pair of cotton breeches and a white shirt now, he gripped the sides of Jaime's golden breastplate, still dented from where the Witch King had kicked him earlier, and pulled it free with a great tug, snapping the leather straps.

"Jaime, it's so easy not to try," he said, "but the man who doesn't dies a thousand deaths where the man who does suffers only one."

In spite of himself Jaime chuckled and felt a small bit of resilience still in him, "I've got no idea what that's supposed to mean, but I suppose you can explain it to me later." He stood up and began pulling his armor off as well. They heard shouting from below and they ran to the side of the tower facing the river.

"The Anduin is calm here," Boromir said, "Just keep moving until you reach shore."

The first of the men reached the top of the tower and they leapt together, at least one arrow sped past his ear as they fell. They hit the water with a splash, though there was a brief sting from the impact Jaime quickly swam to the surface and began to summon all his strength to reach the far shore. He knew after a minute or two that he wouldn't make it, he was absolutely spent and his thoughts turned again to hopelessness.

He felt his head dip beneath the waves, but a strong arm hoisted him back up and air again filled his lungs, Boromir had come back for him yet again and through some great feat of strength now swam towing Jaime with him. The pair finally reached shore, one of the former docks of Osgiliath that had worn away so much over the years that a small semblance of a beach now awaited them. Boromir dropped him on the gravel and sat a moment himself, catching his breath.

"Jaime…" he whispered, "Some foul enchantment hinders you, the man I know would never-"

"He suffers from the black breath of the shadow," a new voice called, it was beautiful and soft, like running water. The two of them turned to see a new figure approaching, the most handsome man Jaime had ever seen, a perfectly symmetrical face and flowing dark brown hair past his shoulders. Idly Jaime noticed his ears were pointed, and despite the fact that no true light emitted from him he could swear the stranger was glowing. "It will sap his strength, cause nightmares and doubt… eventually he will lose all will to live."

Boromir seemed a bit taken aback but introduced himself anyway, "Greetings master elf, I am Boromir, son of the Steward, I would offer you a more regal greeting but…" he gestured around at the ruined city, the sounds of battle still echoed from some far parts.

The elf chuckled, "I am no stranger to war, Boromir, son of Denethor… In my long years I have seen far worse than this." He moved to Jaime, who felt his despair lessening as he drew closer. "I thank you for that Jaime Lannister. I saw your fight up there, your golden armor, that black shadow… it reminded me of better days… of those I've lost." The stranger smiled sadly.

Jaime just groaned in response, enchantment or no he did not want to speak to anyone right now. _I think I shall lay here for some time,_ he thought, _maybe forever…_

"Can you heal him?" Boromir asked hesitantly, "I've heard that Elven medicine can heal anything."

This made the elf laugh, "As thanks for bringing me some brief happiness I will. Know that you have attracted attention from more than mortal eyes this day Jaime Lannister, and with their blessing even one as accursed as I am may call upon their power."

Accursed? What does he- the stranger sang a strange song then, a melody in some tongue Jaime didn't recognize. His hand met Jaime's forehead and for a moment he felt warmth. He closed his eyes and saw endless meadows, he could smell spring flowers and he wondered where this was… a peaceful music filled the air. Suddenly he saw a woman, blonde and beautiful.

"Cersei?" he called hesitantly. The figure turned now and it took a moment to recognize her, " _Mother_?" he whispered.

She nodded with a smile, "Jaime… my son." She moved to him and stroked his cheek, her hand met a tear that had streaked down the side of his face. She wiped it away, "There are many things I wanted to say… but I have been granted only this brief respite."

"Respite from what? Mother what is this-"

"Hush now," she said, moving a finger to his lips. "I wept when I saw what had become of my children… of my husband. Today I have found faith that you may yet have the strength to atone for your sins. To be what your father and I always hoped you would be."

 _My sins… she knows_. A sudden image of Cersei flashed through his head and he felt a great shame wash over him.

"Make things right Jaime," she whispered, "For my own sake and yours."

 _Joanna it is time._ A grim voice reverberated through the air and a blue robed figure appeared behind his mother.

"Go Jaime," She whispered, "we will meet again at the end of all things."

"Wait!" he called, but he suddenly realized he was back in the drab grey of Osgiliath, sitting up, his hand outstretched, reaching for a woman that was no longer there.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Boromir said with a smile, he grasped Jaime's hand and pulled him upright.

"That was…" Jaime searched for words. He found none and instead turned to the elf, "Who _are_ you?"

The elf, who had been smiling, frowned, "There is no need for my name…" he sighed, "though I would ask a favor of you."

"Anything," Jaime said eagerly.

The figure nodded, "If you should see any of my kin, tell them that though it saddens him the Wanderer's oath still holds." Without another word the figure began walking away from them, pulling a harp from his back he began to sing in that melodious voice.

 _The Witch King's mire, it did darken the sky._  
 _His shriek fury's fire, and his eyes sharpened scythes._  
 _Men ran and they cowered, and they fought and they died._  
 _They screamed and they bled as they issued their cries._  
 _We need a savior to free us from Murazor's rage._  
 _A Hero on the field of this new war to wage._  
 _And if Sauron wins, man is gone from this land._  
 _Lost in the cold iron grip of his hand._  
 _But then came a knight on that terrible day._  
 _Steadfast as summer, he entered the fray._  
 _And all saw the clash where he faced his doom._  
 _His gold shining armor cut through the gloom._  
 _And so did he free them from the Witch King's rage._  
 _Stood against darkness, ushered in a new Age._  
 _And all sang of Jaime, the golden son,_  
 _for this story is over and the darkness is gone._

"What was that about?" Jaime asked, "What manner of creatures are these elves?"

"They are… strange." Boromir replied. He looked back to the other side of the river, "We still have much to do. Those men who stayed behind to operate the trebuchets saved many lives today, I would not abandon them to such a horrid death." He thought a moment, "The wild man who lead your skirmishers, he had boats did he not?"

"He did yes," Jaime said. He patted his back and was pleased to discover Brightroar was still in it's sheath, having stayed with him during the jump into the river and the swim to shore. He felt resolve building with him, "Let's go!"

 **A/N: To avoid the endless speculation the elf was Maglor, the only surviving son of Feanor. The song is ripped off from The Tale of the Tongues from Skyrim.**

 **Frozen862 - If Jaime is anything he's brave. It's worth noting that he did run away from the Witch King the first time, but he came back when he realized his father was wounded. He's got a pretty good record of charging into certain death to save people he cares about.**

 **Guest - Jaime might like to say "There are no men like me" but he's still a man, and not by the hand of man shall the Witch King meet his end.**


	50. L the Queen

**L**

 **The Queen**

Cersei had remained in the palace for the week leading up the battle. She'd used her "tour" of Osgiliath as an excuse to remain near Jaime, each day she'd offered some new excuse to explain why she wished to stay just a little while longer until finally Jaime was able to convince their father that on the eve of battle that it would be better for her to wait there in safety in the event the enemy had scouts on the Gondorian side of the river. In truth she'd cared little for studying the old ruins and monuments of the dead city, she was more interested in studying Jaime in her room in the dead of night.

Her time with Jaime, both in and out of the bedroom, helped ease some of her worries, and she had many. She worried for Tommen, back in Casterly Rock alone, and for Joffrey, still lost in the wilds somewhere. Myrcella was safe at least, she was staying with Jeyne Westerling back in Minas Tirith. She wasn't fond of the little tart but there were no other Westerosi ladies at court there yet, and she couldn't pass up the opportunity to see Jaime.

She worried for Jaime too, not because of the approaching battle, no man could match his blade, but because with her engagement to the Steward's son they would often be apart in the future. True there would be many visits between the two courts, but it would never be like it was in King's Landing again. Idly she wondered if there was some way Jaime could find some excuse to remain in Minas Tirith after the war, father would never allow him to remain in the Kingsguard now…

She even found herself wondering and worrying after Faramir, though little compared to the others. Rivendell… she'd been curious enough to seek out more information, but what she'd read only confused her more. At first she'd worried it was some famous city of whores like Yunkai in Essos, she had already decided that in _this_ marriage at least her husband would not so openly shame her, but she'd been relieved to find it was merely a village, almost an outpost really, far in the wilderness. It was more notable for it's lord. Elrond was an elf, what exactly that meant eluded her, but he was said to be a great warrior and sorcerer, the type of man that other men would seek out for advice on matters of great importance.

She almost wished she had spent more time with Faramir when he'd been in Minas Tirith now, where Boromir reminded her of a young Robert Faramir seemed closer to… well perhaps not quite Rhaegar, but something close. After his marriage proposal he'd asked to speak with her privately, she was fully prepared to give herself to him then and there, but she'd been shocked that he'd instead asked for her help in a scheme to sneak out of the city. It had at least been a novel experience, Robert had seldom asked her for anything except for an unpleasant night in the bedroom or her father's coin. As for bedding... she had at first wondered if perhaps Faramir was a sodomite, but as he'd entered her chambers she'd noticed a very familiar male gaze upon her. She had not taken a man's virginity since Jaime's, if Faramir was indeed being truthful he would never look at another woman again.

She smiled at the thought as she sat on the balcony of the palace in Osgiliath, _He could prove quite the useful husband_. She turned her attention to the other side of the river, it was rare to be able to observe a battle from safety like this, and she wouldn't pass up the opportunity. She'd wanted to join her father in his command tower, but he'd adamantly refused, as had Lord Denethor. _They would never have forbidden a man from observing… even Tommen would have been permitted to-_ her thought was interrupted by the drums of the enemy army.

Most of the battle was too far away to see in the dark, she could see the nearest of the barricades faintly by the light of the many torches the soldiers had lit, but Jaime was commanding in the center. She gestured for one of her guards to bring her more wine, only two tonight, most of the redcloaks were with either her father or Jaime.

She felt a strange mixture of boredom and anxiety, she couldn't see much and battle held little interest for her anyway, but at the same time she knew Jaime was there risking his life and she couldn't bring herself to look away. Finally she could take no more of the torture and left to go to the lower levels of the palace.

"Have any news of father or Jaime brought to me," she said, "I will be in my chambers." She walked to her room where she'd left a book she'd taken from Minas Tirith, _Of Thranduil and the Woodland Realm._ Minas Tirith had few texts on elves in any language she could read, while Westron and the Common Tongue were nearly the same language the books and scrolls involving elves were in Andunaic, a language that reminded her of Old Valyrian, or in Elvish itself. She poured another cup of wine as she read about the elven realm. _Thranduil has ruled the elven realm of Mirkwood since the end of the Second Age, it is second only to the realm of Lothlorien in size and grandeur…_ She frowned, she knew enough to know the second age had ended thousands of years prior. Perhaps Thranduil was a house name like Tommen or Tytos…

Suddenly her door flew open, one of her guards was there, looking panicked, "Lady Cersei! The battle is turning, we need to evacuate immediately!"

"What happened? Where is father?" she asked, shocked.

"Lady Cersei we have to go _now!"_

She sighed angrily and got up, "Very well, has a carriage been prepared?"

"Yes, right this way your highness." They walked down the central staircase of the palace, a few other men were scurrying around below, gathering papers and anything else important. As they stepped outside the scope of the situation began to dawn on her, men were running every which way and shouting, it was so chaotic that it took her a moment to realize the enemy was not upon them already.

She saw her Uncle Kevan leading a group of a few hundred men towards the palace, "Kevan!" She called to him, "What has happened? Is the battle lost?"

He turned to her, his face corpse white, "A great black rider… he came upon us like death itself Cersei, men fled before him." He took a deep breath and steadied himself, "The barricades are lost, the enemy will soon take the bridge and this side of the river. We will withdraw to Minas Tirith and see what can be done."

"Where is father? Where is Jaime uncle?" she asked breathlessly

A sudden screeching horse startled them and they looked to see that a man had accidentally released one of the carriage horses which had bolted into the crowd, "Stop that horse!" Kevan roared, sending several men running after it. He sighed and turned back to Cersei, "They were… the last I saw of them they were attempting to retake the bridge fortifications. The enemy commander, he came upon them suddenly and all men fled before him."

She felt the world fall away from her, _Jaime…_ "The bridge?" she repeated slowly, "They were at the bridge?"

"It is lost now," Kevan said quietly. "I… I fear that Tywin and Jaime are lost as well."

"Coward!" She screamed suddenly, she looked around at the shocked men, "Cowards all of you! What kind of men are you that would abandon your lord and his son like this?"

"Cersei please-" Kevan began, but it only enraged her further.

"If none of you are man enough to go back for Jaime _I will do it myself!"_ she walked forward and made as if to grab a crossbow from one of the watching men, but Kevan grabbed her wrist.

He sighed a moment, "You are right… I will gather men to go back and see if Jaime and Tywin have escaped somehow." He looked around to the assembled men, "We return to the bridge, form up! Crossbowmen reload!" They hesitated a moment, "Now!" he barked.

"I'm going with you!" Cersei said suddenly _Jaime,_ she looked again to the other side of the river where fires blazeds, lighting the night sky, _these fools would leave you to die without my urging_.

"No you are not Cersei," Kevan said firmly, "We will be marching into danger, perhaps death. A battlefield is no place for a woman."

"You already abandoned father once, I won't let you do so again!" she replied angrily.

He was quiet a moment, his face red with shame, "Stay close to us, and stay behind the men. We will only go to see if Tywin and Jaime still stand, if they don't you will come with me back to Minas Tirith." She glared at him but nodded. They walked back towards the bridge as other men ran around them.

"Peasant levys," Kevan said derisively, "You there!" he yelled, pointing to one group, "With me now!" the men looked at each other and for a moment Cersei thought they would flee. She thought a moment of the Gondorian soldiers, she'd heard many claim they would die for her… Would men of her own land?

"Fall in line, in battle you may escape death, in flight you will not," Cersei cried out. Kevan and all of the men looked back to her, shocked to hear a woman speak to them in that manner, but Kevan still repeated her demand.

"You heard her! Fall in line!" They began marching in the column as well, Kevan held back, waiting for her to walk near him. "Cersei…" He sighed, "Mad times… mad times…" He pulled a long dagger from his belt, "Take this, if the men seem uneasy wave it around and say a few words about the family, glory and honor and all that. If need be… defend yourself." He paused a moment, "Do not believe yourself a capable warrior simply because steel is in hand, if the enemy comes flee, that dagger is for when all else fails you."

Cersei took the dagger in hand and felt a rush of excitement, but then thought on her uncle's words, "I'm no fool," she said, "I am my father's daughter after all." Kevan made no reply, the party of men moved towards the bridge in silence as well, the distant sounds of battle occupying any void which speech might have filled.

They arrived at the bridge to see Boromir frantically riding about, holding a white tree standard high, "Hold! Stand Men of Gondor! Of the Westerlands! They must not cross this bridge!"

"Lord Boromir we are at your command!" Kevan called.

Boromir looked relieved to see the reinforcements, and a smile came over his face, "Lord Kevan," his eyes lingered over her a moment, confusion on his face, "Lady Cersei, Timett of the Burned Men brought lord Tywin over the bridge a few minutes ago. He is wounded badly, but he still lives."

Cersei felt relief wash over her, "Where is he now?" She asked.

"The clansmen took him to the rear with the rest of the wounded."

She and Kevan made eye contact for a moment, "What of Jaime?" she asked. As if in answer the sun rose over the mountains, drifting slowly over the battlefield bathing them in golden light. A cry went up from the men and she looked upwards towards the tower on the bridge. A figure bathed in white light battled a fierce dark shape, every time their swords touched there was a green explosion of sparks, and every time it happened the men cheered.

"Jaime!" She breathed, somehow someone had heard her and soon all of the men were shouting.

"Jaime! JAIME!" they cried, the light hit his golden armor in full now and he was like a second sun, shining over the battlefield as he dueled that terrible black shadow.

"JAIME!" Boromir echoed, he turned back to them for a second, his gaze lingering on Cersei and Kevan, "I'm going to him, don't let them take this bridge!" With that he was off, he rode through the orcs and Easterlings on the bridge, his sword cutting down any who stood in his way.

She suddenly remembered her uncle's words and held the dagger high, "HOLD THE BRIDGE!" she shouted, _He will bring Jaime back,_ she thought desperately. Seeing her the men rushed forward into the approaching orcs, Kevan briefly walked to her side.

"Perhaps you are your father's daughter after all…" He pulled his sword from the scabbard and rushed to the line of men holding the enemy at bay, pushing his blade into the visor of one of the Easterlings that had rushed towards their side of the bridge.

Suddenly one of the orcs broke through the line, it made eye contact with her and screeched, rushing towards her with reckless abandon, it's blade raised high. Kevan saw and rushed to intercept it, his sword just barely blocking the beast's from striking her face. Without thinking she pushed Kevan's blade towards the creature, the steel disappearing into it's chest. She watched in shock as it growled one last time before dropping, staining the blade with black blood.

Kevan looked at her in amazement before smiling, "Your father's daughter indeed…"

She felt a terrible fear suddenly, a chill in her very bones. Looking to the bridge she saw many black riders coming towards them, the men ran from them leaving only her standing in their way. She tried to raise her dagger, but her fingers grew numb and it fell from her hands. They rode past her on either side, one last one with terrible red eyes seemed to stare at her as it rode by, it slowed to a trot, locking eyes with her.

 _"A new world for old words Cersei Lannister, give your brothers my regards"_ with that the dark rider's horse reared up, neighing loudly, before he rode after his fellows through the ruins city.

The terror subsided as they left, _old words,_ she thought. _What does he mean… Maggy?_ she pushed it from her mind and picked up the dagger again, "Kevan!" she called. Suddenly there was a crashing sound, she looked to the bridge to see a number of flying stones collide with the support columns, bringing the bridge down. A number of enemy soldiers were stranded on their side of the divide…

"Kill them!" She cried, "Kill them all!" The Westerlands men rushed forward, screaming like madmen. The Gondorians hesitated a moment before joining them, running forward with their swords held high.

She sighed watching them and fell backwards against a building, slowly sinking to a sitting position. She stared at the black blood on Kevan's blade, no, her blade. She looked down to see her golden cuirass with the gems set in it was now splattered with blood, her noticed idly that her dress was covered in blood as well. _Ruined,_ she thought, _this dress is ruined._ She felt something building within her and she surprised herself by laughing madly, the euphoria of continued life rushing over her. In the corner of her vision she saw Kevan walking to her.

"Cersei… the battle is decided, we must see to Tywin," his eyes lingered on the stained blade. "Cersei… niece, area you well?"

She felt herself draw a deep breath, "Yes. Yes I am well uncle..." He held out a hand and she grasped it as he pulled her up. The two of them looked towards the broken bridge in silence, the orcs were gathering on the far side, yelling angrily at them. A few arrows and bolts passed between the two sides, but it was a futile and angry gesture for both. A splashing noise drew her attention and she saw two men swimming away from the tower. _Jaime…_ "There they are!" she pointed to the water.

Kevan nodded, "It seems Jaime lives," he turned to her and said something more, but Cersei was already running towards the riverfront.

She found Boromir and Jaime alone, a strange music echoing on the air. He was wearing nothing but his leathers and smallclothes now, though Brightroar was still strapped across his back. A strange music echoed on the air and in spite of everything she stopped to listen to it for a moment, _A harp?_ The sound brought her a peace she hadn't known since she was a girl. As it faded she saw Jaime standing on the beach getting his bearings. He said something to Boromir and the two began walking towards her and Kevan.

"Jaime!" she called excitedly, but Jaime would not meet her gaze.

"We must go to the men who stayed behind," he said solemnly. She saw that at some point he had thrown away his golden armor.

"Forget them Jaime," she said, "Come to me, to father, he is wounded and would welcome your company."

He hesitated a moment before Boromir spoke again, "I will go across the river. Jaime, there is no other man I would have at my side."

Jaime nodded, "The boats, we must find Timett!"

 _He is exhausted, reason has left him,_ she decided, "Jaime you will go no further, let others take up this burden!" He looked at her for a moment, sad.

"Cersei…" he collected himself again with a great sigh, "I am going to those men. When I come back we need to talk of… of things." He looked at he a moment, "See to father." With that he was gone, running off after Boromir wearing nothing but soaked leathers and cotton smallclothes.

 _You looked better in gold Jaime,_ she thought bitterly. Still she walked back up to the side of the river their army controlled. This side of the river at least was peaceful, and she continued on the roads back to the palace alone.

 **A/N: Merry Christmas everyone.**

 **L'etranger0 - The Paynes are around so Podrick will probably show up at some point.**

 **DigitalSorceress - High praise indeed! Anyways I probably won't do a complete story for each house but when this is all over I might write a few omakes for each of them as a sort of "victory lap" for finishing this thing.**

 **Malgalad3153019 - Valyrian steel is pretty high quality even before getting into the magic aspect. It's described in the books as having whorls and waves all over it which makes me think Martin imagined it more like Damascus steel which is some of the finest stuff a pre-industrial society can produce. As an aside if you've never seen Damascus steel go google it or something, it looks pretty cool.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Valyrian steel carries some powerful enchantments, whether the Nazgul are close enough to White Walkers for them to go into effect has been a subject of some debate on the forums I've posted this story on.**

 **Cyricist001 - The Witch King seems to have heard about it at some point and went with the "no man can slay me" interpretation... obviously that kind of screwed him over in canon.**


	51. LI The Captain of Gondor

**LI.**

 **The Captain of Gondor**

They'd ran towards the bridge together, the morning summer sun warming them and drying their clothes. The men cheered upon seeing them, an armored figure rushed towards Jaime, Boromir recognized him as Addam Marbrand, the knight who'd first come to Minas Tirith with Jaime.

"Jaime!" he called smiling, "That was… that was something out of legend! Half the men are saying you fought the Stranger himself, the other half are saying the Night's King has come again and this will be another War for the Dawn."

"There will be time enough to discuss it later, where is the mountain man? Timett?"

"Timett is here!" a voice called, they turned to see him walking towards the bridge with a small party of Clansmen, "Your father is alive Jaime Lannister, Timett has taken him to your healers."

"The boats Timett," Boromir said quickly, "Are they on this side of the river?"

Timett nodded, "Several wounded men were brought back over the river after our first attack." His eye widened suddenly, "You mean to go back? For the Andals who used the stone throwers?"

Boromir nodded, "They saved our lives by bringing down that bridge, if any still remain I will not abandon them."

The clansman drew his axe, "follow Timett!" the four of them, for Boromir saw that Marbrand was following now too, ran to a small dock that in the days of Osgiliath's glory had probably been used by merchants. Docked there were two rowboats, probably large enough to hold seven or eight men each. Looking across the river Boromir could see the men had piled stone and wood to block the final bridge leading to their position, but the enemy was coming for them. He motioned for Jaime to get into one of the boats with him and they began rowing madly for the small isle where the Trebuchets were situated. He could see now that the men had lit them on fire, the tall wooden structures spilling black smoke into the morning sky. The barricades they'd erected crumbled under the weight of the orcs assault just as their boats made contact with the shore, the men saw them and ran desperately towards the sand.

"Come on! Come on!" Jaime yelled, suddenly he pointed to a man who'd taken an arrow to the leg and was hobbling towards them, "Someone get him!"

Boromir saw and jumped free of the ship, running to the man just as the first group of orcs was about to overtake him. His greatsword cleaved through the first, before they could react he'd plunged it through the chest of a second. He was caught off guard by the screaming battle cry of an Easterling, a shield raised to block his strike, in the corner of his eye he saw Marbrand and Jaime helping the injured man hobble towards the boats. The Easterling met his sword and brought the heavy shield around to hit him hard in the side. He cried out angrily and was about to tear the shield from the other man but then Timett came from behind him and planted an axe in the gap between the helmet and the man's mail. He watched as the man fell and Timett merely jerked his head in the direction of the boats. Boromir nodded and they ran together, snarls and angry yells coming from behind them.

As they reached the sands the two of them jumped into the nearest boat and joined the men in pushing away from the sand with the paddles. They slowly drifted off and frantically rowed away, some of the orcs tried to rush into the water after them, but Timett seized a paddle and with a quick snapping motion jabbed the end of it towards the skull of the closet one, causing a quick cracking noise followed by the creature drifting underwater. They were too far into the water to be caught now, and a number or orcs yelled obscenities at them from the shorefront as they drifted away, and by the time any of them thought to loose arrows they were nearly back again.

When the boats had again docked the sappers helped their injured comrade out of the boat, several murmured thanks but it was clear most were still in awe that they'd managed to escape at all. Boromir looked over the city silently, the East bank was lost, the only bridge destroyed… but the enemy would not cross the river this day. He saw Jaime making similar observations, sharing his relief that they had avoided a total rout.

"Your father Jaime," he said suddenly, "We should see to him."

Jaime nodded, breathing out slowly looking back to the tower where he'd fought the Nazgul, "You're right. He'll be in the rear with the rest of the wounded."

"I'll go to him within the hour as well, I'm sure my report is needed." Marbrand said reluctantly, from the look of him he'd hoped to lurk away somewhere seeking a drink or perhaps a warm bed. "For now I will see to my men." Timett said nothing, just watching them go for a moment before walking away to look for the other clansmen.

The two of them walked slowly, the fatigue and weariness of the battle beginning to set in. The men they passed seemed to be in a similar state, with the bridge destroyed and the enemy cleared from this side of the river there seemed to be little to do. Men wandered aimlessly, looking for their lords or commanders, some just propped themselves against the ruined buildings and fell asleep. Boromir felt a small yawn escape his own mouth, with the adrenaline of the fight fading he wondered how long it would be before he had a chance to rest.

They came at last to the same palace they'd stayed at in the week leading up to the battle. One of the guards recognized Jaime and approached them.

"Ser Jaime, your father is in his bedroom being treated by the maesters, Lord Denethor and your sister are with him as well."

Jaime nodded, "What's the situation, is he… is it bad?"

The guard shrugged, "I'm sorry Ser Jaime but I know little of such things, but he is awake and he has been yelling for us to find you for at least an hour now."

Jaime frowned, "Well if he's trying to order me around already he must have some life in him yet."

The party climbed the stairs to Tywin's room. As they entered Boromir saw his father standing to one side of the bed, he nodded upon seeing them. Looking around he also saw Cersei, seated in a chair in the corner of the room, sipping wine quietly. He noticed she'd changed out of the bloodstained dress he'd seen earlier, though she seemed to be in as much shock as anyone else. When they entered they saw a maester and a woman wearing a grey hood and dress which Boromir recognized as the garb of a healer of the Houses of Healing arguing over the best method of treating Tywin's wound.

"I am telling you lady Loreth, breadmold is quite effective in preventing putrefication-"

"Nonsense you old fool!" She snapped, "brushing honey against the wound is the proper method of preventing a wound from going sour!"

Seeing the three of them enter his father sat up in bed, "I've no time for this, do both if it pleases you and then stitch my wounds." He was pale, likely from blood loss, and his armor and clothing had been cut off him leaving him naked from the waist up, a large assortment of bandages coating the wound in his side.

"Lord Tywin shall I prepare milk of the poppy?" The maester asked hesitantly, the woman had already begun removing the bandages to apply honey.

"No," He replied, "I must speak with my son and my allies, sew me up without it."

"Lord Tywin it will be extremely-"

"Do it," he said sternly. Sighing the Maester began applying the bread mold, following the path of the healer before the holding out a needle for her to thread, on the use of stitches at least they agreed. Tywin winced as the first needle pierced his skin, but otherwise seemed coherent.

"What in the seven hells..." he began before drawing a sharp intake of breath as the healers continued their work, "What in the seven hells was that? The things I felt…" he shuddered involuntarily, "It was no man, that much I know, nor was it a mere Wizard."

"The Witch King himself," Denethor replied, "Come to lead Sauron's armies again, as he did in ages long past. You are lucky to have survived."

Tywin was quiet a moment, "It's all true, Sauron really is some deathless abomination…" he seemed to sink in on himself, his eyes staring straight through them, "It's all true!" he almost shouted, startling the maester.

"Lord Tywin!" the man began, "Please remain-"

"Calm?" He yelled, "The Stranger himself takes up arms against me and you want me to remain _calm?"  
_  
Loreth stood up and placed a hand on his chest firmly, in his weakened state Tywin was easily forced back to his pillow, "Lord Tywin, if you will take no sleeping drought then yes I am afraid that you must force yourself to remain calm." He fumed, and Boromir reflected that it was lucky that Loreth was a servant of Minas Tirith rather than Casterly Rock. He slowly adjusted himself to get more comfortable.

"How do we stop him?" he asked suddenly, "Every tale of grumpkins and snarks has something that stops the monster, do we need silver arrows? Dragonglass? Whatever it takes we'll get it!" he looked to Denethor and Boromir almost desperately.

Boromir sighed, "This is no tale of grumpkins and snarks Lord Tywin, his defeat in the war of the last alliance required numbers that we do not currently possess."

Tywin's brow furrowed, "The last alliance... forgive me but my study of your history has been mostly more recent events."

"The Last Alliance of Elves and Men," Denethor said suddenly, moving towards a chair alongside the bed. "Sauron had declared himself master of Middle Earth, his armies marched in force against all free peoples, men, elves, dwarves… Gondor was a young nation then, the blood of Numenor still strong, and the elves still numerous in their great realms."

"Oropher, father of Thranduil, was slain during that war," Cersei said suddenly, everyone in the room looked to her shocked, but she was still staring into her cup. "An immortal warrior beyond any man and still cut down…" She looked up at the sudden quiet and realized everyone was looking at her. "I've been doing some reading on elves," she sighed. "Father, they are immortal as well, beings of light and splendor… of power and magic."

Denethor frowned, "If I may ask, why do the elves interest you so Lady Cersei?"

"Cersei-" Boromir began, but it was too late.

"My betrothed goes to treat with them," she replied, "Faramir seeks Elrond of Rivendell. I can only imagine it has something to do with this war."

Denethor nodded, "I'd thought as much… pass the wine." Cersei did so, standing up and bringing him the pitcher, he held out a glass as she poured it to the brim. He took a long drink then sighed with satisfaction, "The wizards and the elves keep each other's counsel."

"If need be we can offer these elves anything they could desire, gold, lands-" Tywin started.

"They care little for such," Denethor replied dismissively, "They are different spirits from men. If it were a matter of paying them for their help I would have done so long ago."

"Then what hope do we have?" Tywin replied angrily, "I will not lay back and accept that we are doomed to be worn down until we fall!"

"There is one weapon that may avail us," The steward drained the rest of his wine, "The One Ring, that foul concentration of all his cruelty and malice… it could be destroyed… or used against him in the right hands."

"Where is this ring?" Tywin asked, suddenly interested.

"Lost long ago," Denethor replied sadly, "though with the hosts of Mordor moving again I am sure that wherever it is the ring moves as well."

Tywin stroked his chin, "Perhaps if we assembled parties to search for it-"

They were interrupted by Kevan Lannister entering the room suddenly, "Tywin I-" he looked around the room, seeing Jaime and Boromir. "News has come from Casterly Rock," he said slowly, "This may be something to discuss in private."

"There are pressing matters we must deal with brother, whatever else there is to be done-"

"Tywin," Kevan cut him off, "This cannot wait."

Tywin raised an eyebrow, "Let me see the letter and I will decide."

Kevan produced a scroll canister of the type usually used by messenger ravens, he stepped past Denethor with a polite nod and handed it to Tywin, who opened it and poured out the rolled paper. He unfurled it and his eyes quickly darted across the page. Boromir saw his eyes grow wide, then the corner of his mouth began to twitch as a furious expression came over his face.

"Lady Loreth, Maester Laren, please leave the room," he said with a forced calm. The two of them, who had so freely ordered him about minutes before, now saw his face and quickly gathered their things and exited the room.

Boromir looked to Denethor uncomfortably and then to Tywin, "Lord Tywin should we-"

"Stay for a moment, as our allies in this war you should be aware that our homeland has come under attack."

"What!?" Boromir exclaimed, he saw from his father's expression that this was a shock to him as well.

"Yes, an army of perhaps fifty thousand orcs has assailed our Northern Border. They have taken the Banefort, though it is said the Baneforts fought valiantly in it's defense. An army of five thousand men ready for battle near the Crag under the command of Prince Eomer of Rohan, who has rallied my people in my absence. He came to the aid of the Banefort and through his efforts many were able to escape." Tywin spoke emotionlessly, reading plainly from the scroll in front of him.

"Surely there are more men available to counter this threat?" Denethor asked.

"The orcs…" Tywin sighed rubbing his temples, "This will come out in any event…" he muttered to himself. "They claim to march under the banner of King Joffrey Baratheon, ravens were sent out from the Banefort declaring me a traitor unless I go to prostrate myself before him and this "Great Goblin." It seems there are a few foolish enough to have declared allegiance to him."

"They haven't seen the orcs, these fools think this is just another play in some game of succession," Jaime said bitterly, "Who is it? Which houses will suffer for this betrayal?"

"There is a man claiming to be the lost bastard of lord Castamere leading peasant levys from their old lands, Lord Farmon of Faircastle has also declared allegiance to King Joffrey but has not sallied forth from Fair Isle yet."

"This is…" Boromir searched for words, "You have my word that I will do all I can to aid you in this dark hour."

"Mine as well, though what we can spare is limited as you have seen for yourself," Denethor cut in.

"I thank you both," Tywin said nodding, "But for now I would ask that everyone leave me alone that I may speak with my daughter…" All eyes in the room turned to Cersei and she looked to all of them, suddenly looking desperate, her gaze lingering on Jaime, then Denethor, and finally on Boromir. As much as he felt he should stay his father's voice cut through the air.

"Boromir, Jaime, Ser Kevan, I think we should indulge Lord Tywin. Come, we all have much to do in any case." The four of them slowly filed out. Boromir was last and he closed the door. He felt himself jump as the angry roar of Tywin's yelling began to fill the room they'd left. Jaime looked back a moment, and Boromir worried he would kick the door open and rescue his sister from their father's wrath.

"What will you do now Jaime?" He asked quietly.

"Father is wounded, he will not be able to travel nor lead men. I will take a portion of our army back in his stead and end this threat," Jaime's eyes never left the door as he spoke, "A bastard of the Castameres…" he chuckled, "The septons were right, the burden of a man's sins falls upon his children."

Boromir frowned, "What do you mean by that Jaime?"

He sighed, "Nothing… Let's go, your father is right, we have much to do."


	52. LII Saruman of Many Colors

**LII.**

 **Saruman of Many Colors**

Saruman waited at the top of the tower of Orthanc, the wind blowing his beard back as black smoke rose in twin pillars on either side of the tower. Against the grey sky a single black dot grew ever closer, finally revealing itself to be a bird, a crebain of Dunland specifically. It landed on his shoulder and he heard Grima Wormtongue's voice.

 _"The prince has fallen and Eomer is far afield. I have begun preparations for the final move if you only give the order."_ Saruman nodded and the bird continued, " _The only one in Rohan who opposes me is Tyrion Lannister who acts as counsel to Eowyn, niece of the king. He works against my designs, for his own power or some greater purpose I do not know, but he arrived with Gandalf the Grey. He has brought men loyal to him and another Lannister, Ser Daven, has arrived with Grimbold's party. I await your decision on what is to be done with them."_

Saruman frowned, he knew from his communion with the Eye that Tyrion Lannister had fallen out of the Dark Lord's sway, but he had expected the Imp to be a broken man… to have him surface now with Gandalf, and in Edoras no less, was disconcerting to say the least.

"Have the Lannisters seized and executed on some pretense," He said to the raven, "You have my leave to marry Eowyn and begin the subjugation of Rohan. All houses and holds which do not bow will be swept away by the fury of Isengard." He made a gesture and the bird bobbed it's head before flying away in the direction of Edoras. He turned to walk down the stairs into the main tower, a few floors down he came across Qyburn, studying various scrolls and books as usual.

"Prepare the ravens," he commanded, and the old maester quickly stood up, beckoning the wizard to follow him into an aviary he'd set up in the next room. Though Saruman could speak through the ravens of Dunland he had been communicating with his agents in the Westerlands through the mute birds which could only carry written messages.

"To where shall the letters be sent Lord Saruman?" Qyburn inquired.

"A letter shall be sent to every castle in the Westerlands which we can send ravens to."

Qyburn nodded, "Would you like me to help you make copies?"

"Yes, let me write an original," he picked up a quill and paper from a nearby desk.

 _To the Faithful_  
 _Dark times grip this world, foul shadows rise and the demons of the seven hells walk the earth. Soon you will see them. I say to you that only the Faithful will be spared in this new War for the Dawn. This begs the question of who is truly faithful? As the Seven are just and merciful only great sin would bring the armies of evil down upon us, great sin we see now in the actions of House Lannister, those killers of all from babes to Kings! Those who heed no gods nor any bond of fellowship! Let it be known that Tywin Lannister and all who follow him are surely damned!_  
 _Saruman the White_

Qyburn took the message and read it, "Surely you don't expect men to rise against lord Tywin on your word alone? I had heard you were respected by the Septons but this is too much to ask of them I think."

"It is not my word alone that they will heed, there is one who fears the gods greatly in Casterly Rock, one who would be willing to betray his family to curry their favor," Saruman said, making another copy of the letter. "In any case I merely seek to delay their resistance to Joffrey's attack. My own armies will march on Casterly Rock soon enough and I would have the goblins cause as much damage as possible before they are stopped. By the time my forces arrive they will be greeted as liberators, peacemakers…" Saruman rolled the letter and placed it in one of the scroll capsules.

"So you never intended for the young king to succeed in his conquest then?" Qyburn asked curiously, rolling another of the scrolls himself.

"Of course not," Saruman scoffed, "The fool boy will cause endless rebellions and wars, I would rule over the Westerlands, not the rubble where they used to be. Ideally no more damage will be wrought than what is necessary to make it's people bow before me." They finished sending the letters out, watching the ravens disappear into the blue sky.

Watching them go reminded Saruman of another matter, "Maester Qyburn, have you created a winged goblin capable of flight?"

"Yes my lord," the maester said with a smile, "The key was the bones you see! I had taken to opening bats and birds to see if some secret of flight was within them, and the bones are _hollow!_ It took some doing and some creative knife work but I managed to lighten the orc bones enough that-"  
"You may explain later, how many have been bred?"

"A dozen, though a few will not fly for reasons beyond my knowledge. Is there some great urgency for their completion?"

Saruman looked off to the Northwest, towards the Shire, "The party I sent has failed in their objective, had they succeeded they would have returned to me by now. I believe those I seek will move towards Rivendell, it is imperative that they be intercepted before they arrive there."

"With your help perhaps fifty could be prepared," Qyburn said uncertainly, "Come and see if they will meet your needs." The Maester and he began the long trip down the tower of Isengard, until finally only a few floors from the bottom they came to another room filled with cells of chattering orcs that silenced as the two of them entered. Qyburn moved to open one of the cages and one of the creatures stumbled clumsily out towards them.

"Whom do you serve?" Saruman asked it, observing it's movements closely.

"Saruman the wise, lord of Isengard," it croaked. The wings on it's back fluttered suddenly, surprisingly large and wider than the creature was tall, with a batlike leathery texture revealed by the torchlight of the room. Saruman walked around it, taking it in. It was a small creature, perhaps three feet tall, with fangs and small clawed hands.

"Is there no way to make them taller?" He asked Qyburn.

"I'm afraid not," The maester replied, "The larger they are the larger the wings needed, and the less stamina the creature will have. As it stands even these will bear only the smallest weapons and certainly no armor."

"They'll have to do," The wizard replied, "Have them brought down to the breeding pits."

Qyburn opened each of the cages and the creatures filed out, "You heard the master!" He yelled, his commanding voice had improved over the months of working with orcs, "Get downstairs now!" He made as if to strike the nearest orc and it shrieked, shuffling down the stairs quickly. The rest followed.

"I will meet you below," Saruman said, gesturing for Qyburn to continue down with his creations, "There are things I must attend to first." Qyburn merely nodded and left without another word, Saruman suspected that Qyburn knew at least some of the Palantir's nature, though he had not yet asked the Wizard about it's use.

As he ascended the stairs back to the room containing the crystalline orb he pondered what would be done when he obtained the ring, _Gandalf,_ he thought, _he will have an opportunity to bow, but if he does not…_ He smiled. He reached the Palantir and drew the cloth from it, placing his hand on it's smooth surface.

As he looked far afield he saw Osgiliath, that ancient city of the men of Gondor, in greater ruin than before. The men of the Westerlands were dividing up, some marching home, others remaining. _They know of Joffrey's attack then…_ he turned his gaze to the West, the Banefort specifically. It now flew a standard depicting a black stag on a golden background, goblins stood on it's ramparts, and the great wall that had been under construction was now abandoned.

"It seems they've fallen on difficult times, those Lannisters." He whirled around to see another wispy figure shimmer into existence, a tanned man of middle age with a black eye patch and a wild air about him. "Saruman the White I presume?"

"Euron Greyjoy…" Saruman replied with a forced smile, "I had wondered when you would approach me, we serve the same master after all…"  
"Do we?" He smirked, "How go things on land?"

"Well enough," Saruman said defensively, "Both Rohan and the Westerlands will soon be under my dominion," _and all Middle Earth with them_ he thought.

Euron nodded, "Odd that you would fly your own banners and not those of the eye..."

"Do your ships not bear a golden kraken Greyjoy?" Saruman replied, his eyes narrowing.

Euron gave an exaggerated shrug, that smug smile never leaving his face, "It's different at sea, an admiral needs to differentiate ships… But I didn't come here to talk about the proper way to fly a standard."

"Then what did you come here to say?" Saruman asked impatiently.

"I've watched you, as you've no doubt watched me, and I have certain… suspicions lord Wizard." They were suddenly overlooking the Shire, where hobbits were now beating plowshares into swords and practicing with spears in the town squares. "I believe you seek the ultimate prize for yourself."

"And if I do?" Saruman asked, the wind beginning to blow his hair back, a fire lighting in his eyes.

"I only wish to let you know that if you should succeed in your play that you might have a friend in me," Euron replied, stroking his own beard and watching a pair of hobbits begin a duel.

"And why should I trust one who's loyalties are so easily swayed?" the Wizard replied. They were suddenly over the seas, where many ships with great black sails were sailing North, golden Krakens embroidered on their sails.

"Whether I serve you, Sauron, or no master at all, I will still be the lord of the seas and master of the storm," from somewhere far away thunder rumbled, "You contend with two masters for my loyalties, Sauron and myself, the eye has promised me the seas, and I've promised them to myself, so long as you promise them to me as well I would be content to follow you should your hour arrive."

Saruman raised an eyebrow, "I can grant that promise, now begone from my sight."

"As you wish," Euron laughed, the foul sound echoed as he faded out of the palantir.

Saruman pulled his own hand off the Palantir, and the room in Orthanc again filled his vision, _Greyjoy,_ he thought, _A madman to be sure, but I will need lieutenants in my new order..._ He decided to consider the matter later.

He walked down to meet Qyburn in the great earthen pits below the tower. Though they were deep underground there was ample light from the fires of the forges and the torches lining the walls. When he arrived Qyburn had already sealed several of the winged creatures in the birthing pits that had been used to create the Uruk-Hai. Seeing him approach the Maester stepped aside as Saruman tapped his staff against the stirring muck and muttered incantions, allowing his power to flow into the earth. Movement stirred and he smiled.

"Let us retire Maester Qyburn," he said as he entered the elevator back up to the surface. Qyburn followed behind him and soon they were back in the tower of Orthanc. Saruman was about to leave for his study when Qyburn surprised him with a question.

"Lord Saruman… do you seek the ring?"

He stopped and looked at his maester, an eyebrow raised, "Where did you hear of the ring?" he asked suspiciously.

"You gave me full access to your library my lord," the maester said uncertainly, "I have been reading about more than anatomy, truthfully I had hoped to discover what our goal is."

Saruman thought for a moment before responding, "It was my place to counsel and work against Sauron and all of his foul works, to that end I have learned more of him and his strength than any of the Wise. It has become clear to me that there is no contesting the will of Sauron save by the possession of the ruling ring." He paused a moment, "I have worked alongside those who seek it's destruction, and alongside it's master… If I can attain mastery over it then all of Middle Earth will be mine as well."

"And if it cannot be obtained?" Qyburn asked quietly.

"It will be," he said firmly. He paused, gauging Qyburn's reaction.

"The die is cast then isn't it?" Qyburn said with a smile, "I'm sworn to your service in any event."

Saruman found himself somewhat relieved to hear that, "Maester Qyburn… when I have mastered the One Ring I shall forge others, as the elves and the Dark Lord did in days of old. They will be given to faithful servants…" he let the implication hang in the air.

Qyburn nodded, "I have read a little of the power offered by these rings… pray tell does eternal life come with eternal youth too? I don't know if eternity is worth it with this back."

Saruman found himself laughing, and soon the maester joined him, "I'm certain that easing your pain is among the works the ring is capable of," he said as the laughter faded.

"You know I've been offered eternal life before," Qyburn said absently, "Several times in fact, the first was a Tyroshi trader trying to sell me some manner of ointment… the second was a red priest, but that was of a spiritual nature I believe…"

"My promises are genuine," Saruman said, "See to your duties Maester Qyburn, I shall be in my chambers." The two parted ways and the wizard was free to contemplate the coming war with Rohan.

 **A/N: Reviews**

 **Hotrod333 - After all that she's seen she believes in elves now.**

 **DuesalBladesinger - Those rebel lords think this is just another play in the game of thrones, on another note that lost Reyne bastard is probably about as real as Aegon Targaryen is in canon.**

 **L'etranger0 - This fic is going to take awhile to finish and I don't want to plan any more right now. A Hobbit era story might be more fun with a smaller faction, The Night's Watch or Danaerys and her unsullied finding themselves north of Erebor could be pretty fun.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - the Banefort's upgrade was under construction, it wasn't quite finished yet and attacking before it was completed was a vital part of Saruman's plan. The Westerlands is mostly mountainous so goblins might have a slight advantage there, but overall they're probably going to fold before Jaime and his veteran troops... the biggest problem is the rebels and now Saruman's plots.**


	53. LIII The Shieldmaiden

**LIII**

 **The Shieldmaiden  
**

Theodred was to be laid to rest in the Barrowfield outside of Edoras. It had rained the following two days after Grimbold's arrival, and to match the skies her eyes had been filled with tears. It had been decided that Theodred would be laid to rest in the Barrowfield outside of Edoras when the skies cleared. While the sun still didn't shine the rain eventually gave way to a gray overcast. It was under this grim sky that the people of Edoras watched their prince's body as it was carried to it's final resting place.

She wore a black dress with a shawl covering her hair as was the custom, idly she realized it was the first time she'd changed clothes since word of her cousin's death had come. The people of Rohan followed suit, wearing whatever black they had, as did Grimbold, Hama, and even Grima. Tyrion had somehow acquired his own formal attire, likely originally intended for a child, but his cousin Daven Lannister wore a simple dyed cotton shirt and dark breeches. The other members of the Lannister party, Bronn, Shagga, and Ser Lyle Crakehall, were further back in the procession, mixed among the crowd.

The Simbelmynë around the ancient graves contrasted sharply with their attire, the pale white flowers marking each of her ancestor's resting places. Against a hillside a stone was rolled away to open up a freshly dug barrow, carved on the front in old Rohirric was a short epitaph describing Theodred's life and death. There was a near silence as he was born into the ground, broken only by the chirping of a few passing birds. She felt herself begin to cry again as the stone was rolled into place.

She wondered if she should say something, but no words came. As she stood there, tears slowly filling the corners of her eyes, the people filed by, each throwing one of the pale white flowers at the foot of the grave.

Daven Lannister approached her, "Lady Eowyn… I didn't know your cousin for very long, but he was a good man. He took me and my men in when we were lost far from home, and before he fell he saved my own life in the melee."

She nodded, "I thank you Ser Daven."

Grima and Tyrion approached her next, each casting their flowers before the grave, "Lady Eowyn I promise to do all in my power to avenge my friend the prince," Grima said.

 _Theodred hated you,_ she thought angrily, "Thank you Grima, I'm sure the orcs who did this will be hunted down."

"To start with," Tyrion said suddenly, "But I think we should perhaps question how the men of Rohan could have lost to such rabble, wouldn't you say Lord Grima? After all these are merely orc bandits aren't they?"

"All possibilities are being considered," Grima replied, glaring at the dwarf. He gave a low smile, "Here comes your uncle lady Eowyn." At his direction four men carried the King of Rohan on a solar where he lay cushioned by a number of pillows.

"Theodred…" he whispered as he was taken past the crypts. She saw someone had placed a flower in his hand, but he hadn't had the presence of mind to drop it, it remained in his hand until his gnarled fingers crushed the petals. Somehow the sight saddened her almost as much as seeing Theodred put in his tomb. Tyrion and Grima saw this and walked away together behind the King's procession.

After more comforting words from some she knew and more she didn't, the funeral came to an end leaving her alone by the crypt. She sighed and turned to walk back to the city. She paused a moment, seeing a lone figure perhaps fifty feet from her, sitting on a rock on the side of the road. As she approached she saw it was a familiar face.

"Greetings Bronn," She said as she walked past, "May I ask why you are here?"

He stepped off the rock he'd sat on and followed her, "Tyrion thought it would be best if you weren't left alone."

"No offense meant, but I would have preferred the company of someone who was close with me."

Bronn chuckled, "Lady Eowyn, I'm not here to comfort you, I'm here to protect you."

She raised an eyebrow, "And what protection would you provide in mourners attire?"

Before she could blink he produced a blade as long as her forearm, the point angled towards her, "Never been rich enough for heavy armor anyway, but this ought to let me hold off a few men while a highborn lady escapes."

She felt a small smile tickle the corner of her mouth. She stepped forward quickly, with a lightning motion her palm struck the bottom of Bronn's elbow angling the point upward. Her clenched fist flew towards his throat and he barely caught it just before it struck his windpipe. The two separated suddenly, and holding eye contact with her Bronn sheathed the dagger behind him.

"Tyrion may have… underestimated your ability Lady Eowyn," he said with a smile, "Not that I care, I'm charging him whether or not you get kidnapped today." He paused, "Who taught you to do that?"

"I practiced with Eomer," She replied, "When he was away my uncle had Hama train me in in the sword, though he was never as skilled as my brother was."

They passed through the city gates and walked up the road to Medusheld. She saw that Lyle Crakehall and Shagga were waiting for the pair of them inside the gate. Each man was casually eating a turkey leg, and each man casually threw it aside into the small stream alongside the main road of Edoras as they followed behind Bronn.

"With the King being in the state he's in you're the last person in Edoras that might speak against Grima," Bronn explained, "Tyrion's worried he'll have you disposed of somehow." The four of them continued walking through the city, with the funeral over the normal level of activity was returning, a few children ran and played, and one man was setting up a stall to sell an assortment of vegetables in a nearby crate. Bronn fished a copper out of his pocket and flipped it to the man, who caught it in mid air. The merchant nodded and Bronn grabbed a carrot from the pile.

"Where is Tyrion?" She asked, she realized suddenly that she was hungry, she'd eaten very little over the past several days.

"He's up in Medusheld talking with Ser Daven, I think he's hoping to convince him to stay here with us for awhile."

Eowyn nodded, she remembered at some point over the past several days Tyrion had explained their situation to his cousin. What exactly he was doing in Western Rohan at the time was still a mystery to her, but they were in no position to turn down additional help.

They came at last to the hall, when they entered Tyrion and Daven were waiting for them, "Lady Eowyn," Daven said, standing up. "I've decided to remain here in Edoras for a short time longer." He paused, "I did not lie when I said Theodred saved my life… A Lannister always pays his debts."

"I thank you Ser Daven," she replied, "but I have no desire to discuss these matters today."

"Whether you desire to or not we must," Tyrion said grimly, "We need to go somewhere where we cannot be overheard."

She sighed, "Come, all of you." She beckoned them to follow her to her own chambers, they were the last on the left side hall of the hold. They were far from other rooms and spacious enough to accommodate them all. A small table with four chairs was arranged on one side near a window. She pulled one out and took a seat, as did Daven and Tyrion. Bronn simply propped a shoulder against the wall. Shagga and Crakehall both looked at one another, then at the remaining chair. Each tried to pick up their pace without breaking into a run, and Crakehall just barely managed to slide into it just before Shagga reached the table.

"Shagga will stand," the clansman said, folding his arms, "Unlike Andals the First Men do not tire so easily."

Crakehall's eyes narrowed, "Perhaps I'll stand too-"

"Enough!" Tyrion snapped, "I'd trouble lady Eowyn no longer than necessary." They both seemed embarrassed, but remained quiet. Once he was sure he wouldn't be interrupted he continued, "Lady Eowyn… I believe Grima conspired to have the prince killed."

She gasped, "Even he would never sink so low!"

Tyrion sighed, "When I came to Edoras it was shortly after Theodred had left, Grima told Gandalf and I that he went West to fight a horde of orcs which he was warned of by the Wizard Saruman the White." He gestured to Daven, "Tell lady Eowyn what happened at the battle."

The bearded man sighed, "I'll say first that my business in that region is my own, but my men and I had fallen in with Theodred's company and resolved to join them in battle against the goblins." He stroked his beard, "The battle was going well, though the enemy had numbers they were fleeing before us, and Theodred's charge would have broken them but for the arrival of a second force cutting us off from the rear."

"What standard did this secondary force fly?" Tyrion asked, though she could tell from his tone he already knew the answer.

"A white hand on a black background," Daven replied.

"Lady Eowyn, when Saruman communicates with your father and other men of Rohan what sigil does he use? what is his seal?"

"A white hand on a black background…" she said quietly. Her sorrow vanished as rage filled her heart, "I will kill him. I will kill him right now!" she stood up and walked to her trunk where she kept her sword.

"Lady Eowyn wait!" Tyrion called, but fire was in her soul and a moment later a sword was in her hand.

Her way was blocked suddenly by Bronn, "Stand aside," she snarled.

Tyrion walked to her, "And what would happen if you barged into his room right now? Sword in hand? He's got his men around him at all times now, he's taking no risks with his plans so close to fruition. Even if you cut them all down somehow what reaction would there be? Grima surely has allies at court, they'd brand you a madwoman."

She lowered her head silently, it was all true, "What do you suggest then? What justice can be had?"

"We will wait," he said, slowly taking the sword from her hand and propping against the wall, "When he has gathered all of his supporters together, that will be the time to strike. For now go to Hama, let him know what Grima has done and tell him to be prepared to follow your direction."  
She nodded, "Come with me then," she thought a moment, "You men," she pointed to Bronn, Shagga, and Crakehall, "Go to the armory and get the armor of the town guards, you will need to move freely and without suspicion."

The two groups left the room and parted ways, with Shagga, Crakehall, and Bronn heading down a separate hall towards the armory while she and the Lannisters went to the main hall to search for Hama. As they entered the throne room she noticed Grima was waiting on his advisor's seat, a number of other men gathered around him. He noticed them and smiled.

"It seems a search will not be necessary, Seize them!" The men rushed forwrd, Daven drew his sword as they surrounded them.

"Lower your blade Ser Daven," Eowyn said quietly, "Grima was is the meaning of this?"

"My lady these two are outlaws and traitors!" He spat, "Tyrion Lannister is wanted by his father, lord Tywin, it seems he tried to kill his brother, Jaime Lannister, in a bid to secure an inheritance." He stood up and walked to them, "And this one! "Ser" Daven Lannister led prince Theodred into a trap leading to his defeat at the hands of the orcs." He shook his head, "For shame, he gave you help in the wilderness and you repaid his kindness with a knife in the back!"

"That's a lie!" Daven roared.

"Step away from them Eowyn," Grima said, "They are dangerous men."

"We will go quietly," Tyrion said suddenly, "Take us to your dungeons…"

She looked at him curiously, but stepped away as the men were put in shackles by Grima's guards.

"Bloody great…" Daven muttered, but he didn't resist. The two men were taken away. She turned to follow them but Grima stopped her.

"Lady Eowyn I have been talking to your father about the future of Rohan, of it's governance…" He said slowly.

She felt herself recoil from his touch, but tried not to let it show, "And what have you decided?" she asked in a low voice?"

"I have asked your father's permission to take your hand in marriage," he said with a toothy smile.

She was quiet a moment, "I accept," she said quietly, "on the condition that the Lannisters be held until after we are wed, I will not have our wedding marred by more bloodshed."

He nodded with a smile, "Of course! A reasonable accommodation surely…" he brushed her hair from her face and she struggled not to strike at him or pull away. "I'm glad you've decided to be… cooperative my lady. I know things have been difficult of late, but this is for the good of Rohan. In these dark times the people will look to us for leadership. I'll have arrangements made, we should marry as soon as possible wouldn't you agree?"

"A week," she said, "We'll marry in a week," _and I'll be long gone by then,_ she thought. She would not bear to be married to this worm.

His grin broadened, "Eager I see! It will be as you wish!"

"I am pleased to hear it. I must attend to other things Lord Grima, if you will excuse me…" She turned to leave, heading towards the prison cells. As she entered she saw that Tyrion and Daven had already been placed behind bars, a single man stood at attention when she entered. "Leave us," she said, he bowed and did so without question.

"Lady Eowyn what will-" Tyrion began.

"Did you really try to kill your brother?" She asked, cutting him off, "Is that why you fled to our lands?"

He was quiet a moment, "I did. There were… other circumstances. I regret what I did now, it was my brother himself who sent me into hiding."

"So it's actually true?" Daven asked suddenly, "Why would you try to kill Jaime? He's been nothing but kind to you!"

He sighed, "Daven, I have a feeling we'll be in here for some time, I'll explain it all in detail, but let me please speak with Lady Eowyn."

"You will have few other opportunities," she said cooly, "What manner of man have I allied myself with? Would Rohan be served if it were saved from Grima only to be delivered into the hands of a man who tries to murder his own family?" They sat in silence a moment, she could tell Tyrion was searching for the right words.

"As I said I will not deny my wrongdoing, but I have served you faithfully. If you can bear my company I will continue to do so."

She looked him in the eye and knew his words were genuine, "Very well," she said with a sigh, "I will find your men and plan our escape… Grima and I are to be wed in a week's time and I will not suffer his touch."

Tyrion perked up, "A wedding you say? Has he captured the rest or our conspirators?"

"No," she replied, "They are still free."

"I believe we have found our opportunity," the dwarf said, "All of those who support him at court and at arms will be there, they will be unarmed and unarmored, they will be drunk… they would be at our mercy."

"Lord Tyrion that's…" she searched for words, attacking men at a wedding, even men such as Grima, seemed unseemly to her.

"In the game of thrones you win or you die," Tyrion said firmly, "Explain to me how it is more noble to kill thousands in battle than a dozen at dinner."

"You said it yourself, we will have them at our mercy," she said, "If we are to do this thing… I would have any who would surrender taken alive."

"Fine," he said in annoyance, "Though I warn you I fear few will take you up on the offer once their treachery is exposed."

They were interrupted by Daven's laughter, "You've become your father, haven't you Tyrion?"

"Don't mention him," Tyrion growled, "I'm nothing like him." He turned back to her, "Grima is more than merely corrupt, he is a traitor to all mankind! A monster who will see your people raped and killed for sport!"

Anger welled in her again, "You are right…" she whispered, "I will got to Hama, and I will gather your men as well Lord Tyrion. I will have justice for Theodred… even if it must come through such foul means." She turned to leave, _So this is what it's come to,_ she thought. _If there is no other way... then let mine be a red wedding._

 **A/N:**

 **Guest talking about young griff - Well not to get too tinfoily but I'm pretty sure he's actually a Blackfyre, which doesn't bode well for him.**

 **Duesal Bladesinger - Faramir resisted the ring, at least briefly, in canon, so he's already a bit better for the Fellowship than Boromir.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Well Joffrey's a bit more vicious and competent here than he is in canon thanks to his adventures with the goblins, but you're right he's still not going to be any match for Jaime unless he totally gets the drop on him or something.**

 **U.N.S. - Well the biggest problem is that Erebor is far away and the dwarves have an old feud with the Rohirrim over a dispute the two groups had over Scatha the dragon's treasure. Basically Scatha stole a bunch of the dwarves gold as dragons tend to do and he ended up being killed by the grandfather of Eorl, the guy who actually founded Rohan. The dwarves wanted their money back and he sent the dragon's teeth to them as an insult, so the dwarves killed him later. The Rohirrim have probably moved on, dwarves on the other hand are by their nature stubborn and would totally bring up something like that if asked for help. That said the Easterling army headed towards Erebor in canon will probably divert south to help Mordor's host deal with the Lannisters, this might free up the dwarves a bit more than in the War of the Ring as it happened in the books.**

 **Fear - Well sorry you don't like it, but I don't know that I'd call the Lannisters overpowered since they just got their asses kicked in the first major battle of the war. If you're referring to Jaime's fight with the Witch King he only lived through that with literal divine intervention, and he's the best they've got with a sword.  
**


	54. LIV The Imp

**LIV**

 **The Imp**

Compared to the sky cells of the Eyrie the dungeons of Medusheld were quite pleasant, each cell had a straw stuffed mattress and each day the guard would empty his chamberpot and bring him a meal. Still it was a prison, and there was nothing to do but talk with Daven. They'd already gone over his attempt to kill Jaime, the loss of his finger, and his subsequent flight.

"So what pushed you over the edge then?" Daven asked, idly playing with a piece of straw, "It doesn't sound right that you'd just up and decide to join ranks with Mordor for an inheritance, you've never wanted to do anything but spend your father's gold on whores, I hadn't pegged you as the ambitious sort…"

"I'll ignore that remark," he said, glaring at his cousin, "When I was in Mordor they told me some things about Jaime…" _Tysha,_ he thought, and some of the old anger returned, but it was muted now.

"And they were?" Daven asked curiously.

"I'd rather not say," he replied tersely, "It'll only darken my mood and I've no wine to lighten it. Tell me Daven, while we're discussing secrets, what were you doing in Rohan?"

"A long stroll through the countryside of this lovely new world we've found ourselves in," He replied smiling, "I'd simply set out with some of my men one day and a ride to the Crag became a ride to the Banefort, and when we'd reached that I thought we might as well go further on to-"

"Daven, if you don't want to tell me you can just say so," he said with irritation.

Daven shrugged, "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell you but…" his eyes glanced at the guard in the room with them.

Tyrion nodded, "Excuse me! Guard!"

The guard sighed, "Yes?"

"Could you get me a cup of water? Wine perhaps?"

"This isn't an inn," he replied, "I'll bring you something to drink with your dinner."

He remembered the small bag of gold Gandalf had left him with, _It's probably still in my chambers…_ "What if I could offer some payment?"

The guard snorted, "I've got my own straw mat."

"Gold," Tyrion replied, "I've got a small purse of it hidden, bring me and my cousin here something to drink and perhaps I'll tell you where it is."

The man raised an eyebrow, "The gold first."

"The wine first," Tyrion replied, "If I tell you where the gold is you may simply take it and bring me nothing, but if I refused to tell you where the gold is after receiving my wine you can still beat me to a bloody pulp if you feel that it's become necessary."

The guard cocked his head, thinking, "Fair enough, I'll be back in a moment."

As soon as he was gone Daven began, "Shortly after you and Jaime left on your diplomatic missions Joffrey elected to run off into the wilderness North of the Banefort with Sandor Clegane."

Tyrion's brow furrowed, "What? Why?"

Daven shrugged, "I don't know what possessed him to do it, I had at first thought Clegane kidnapped the boy for ransom but he left some letter demanding your father gather armies… he had some fool notion of conquering a new Seven Kingdoms out of Gondor and Rohan."

"And how exactly was running off into the wilds with a single man at arms going to accomplish this?"

"The boy was mad, we followed him to a land called the Shire in Eriador, the people there are small, about your height."

This piqued Tyrion's interest, "Really? A whole land of dwarves? I'd thought they were supposed to live under mountains..."

"They're not dwarves," Daven said, "And they get very upset if you say they are, they call themselves hobbits."

"Hobbits?" Tyrion asked, suppressing a chuckle.

"Aye, hobbits. The shire was a pleasant enough place I'll grant. We came upon Joffrey and Clegane when they'd been captured by the local authorities. We paid them off and took the little brat off their hands. We didn't have him for long though," Daven growled, "We were set upon by orcs, creatures I'd thought to be mere myth before meeting them. Joffrey ran off during the fight and was captured."

Tyrion grimaced, "Well I never liked the little shit, but may he rest in peace… or pieces"

"If only the gods were so kind," Daven replied, "He's run off and joined the goblins, he was fighting with them and even giving orders when I last saw him."

Tyrion sighed, "Of course he has… no doubt he's promised them half the gold in Casterly Rock if they'll take him in…" A sudden realization struck him, "Daven, you said the goblins did not cross into Rohan correct?"

"It's true, they marched south," his cousin replied, "As soon as the larger orcs engaged us they pulled back and began withdrawing. I don't think they expected to fight the Rohirrim at all."

He made eye contact with Daven through the bars, "There's only one place they could be going if they weren't after Rohan."

Daven's eyes went wide, "Gods above! He's going back to the Westerlands!"

Tyrion nodded, "I believe it may have been his intention the entire time… It seems I've underestimated my nephew's intelligence and ambition."

Daven rolled his eyes, "I don't think you have. He was captured in the Shire trying to steal a ring from one of the hobbits, the boy's a fool."

 _A ring?_ Tyrion's eyes went wide. The guard suddenly came back, a pair of wineskins in hand. He walked to the cells and handed each man the wine through the iron bars.

"Many thanks," Tyrion said taking a long swig, _A ring… that can't be a coincidence… this world has no coincidences._ The guard cleared his throat and Tyrion suddenly remembered his promise. "In the room I was staying in, it's in the vase on the dresser." The guard left again. "Daven… that ring-"

"Little bastard wouldn't shut up about it, kept trying to get us to go back for it right up until he got taken from us, said it was in his dreams even."

Tyrion took another drink, and then laid his head against the wall, _A ring,_ he scratched the stubble of his missing finger absently. He thought back to his ring… wearing it he'd known things he'd had no way of knowing, done things he didn't think himself capable of. A small smile lit his face as he remembered winning over Gregor Clegane… he'd only needed to offer the man bloodshed, endless bloodshed on a scale his father could never- He felt himself shudder suddenly as he realized what he was thinking.

"He was searching for the ring in a place called the Shire then?" Tyrion asked, "The land where the hobbits live?"

"That he was, I'm not sure what it matters now though," Daven replied.

"Just curious, being a man of my stature I was intrigued at the thought of a land of other persons like myself."

Daven nodded, "I'd thought as much." He grinned, "I'll admit I thought of you when I saw it myself!" The guard returned shortly afterwards and their conversation ended, leaving Tyrion to think over what Daven had said.

As much as he tried not to he found himself again thinking of rings. He'd read much about them in Umbar and been told more in Mordor… _The three are likely still with the elves somewhere,_ he thought, _the Nine…_ he paused a moment, remembering the wraith form of the Witch King, _still in use._ He shifted in his spot against the wall and it took him a moment to gather his thoughts again. _A dwarven ring perhaps, like the one given to me, either that or…_ The thought terrified him. _No, it couldn't be_ that _one, how would Joffrey even learn of it? Much less find it?_ He chuckled to himself, it was ridiculous! But the more he thought about it the more it troubled him. _In this world stories and stray thoughts cannot be simply dismissed…_

His musings were interrupted by Eowyn entering the room, "I would have words with the prisoners alone," she said to the watchman.

He simply shrugged in response, "As you will Lady Eowyn."

"Well? What news is there?" Tyrion asked as soon as he was gone.

"Hama is with us," She said, "He and the rest of the doorguard will support our move."

Tyrion nodded, "Good. How many men will he bring?"

"He and ten other men will be present, with Bronn, Crakehall, and Shagga that puts us at fifteen, seventeen when we get the two of you out."

He frowned, "Don't you mean sixteen?"

"A blade will be in my hand as well," she replied a glint in her eye, "My wedding dress will conceal a sword well enough."

"How many guests are expected?"

"At least fifty, mostly Grima's supporters. Grimbold has refused to attend, he's been quite outspoken about his opposition to our union and he's left with his men for Grimslade. Grima has used this as a pretext to have at least a dozen of his own men at arms there as well, he says he doesn't want Grimbold coming back to disrupt things."

Tyrion was quiet a moment, _Numerical parity… or near enough that it doesn't matter. We'll have to surprise them._ "How will this wedding unfold? I'm unfamiliar with your customs."

"Rohirrim weddings involve a short ceremony followed by a feast. Both will be held in the central throne room… If at all possible I would strike before the ceremony," she said. A disgusted expression drifted over her face, "I'd rather be able to say I was never married to him… even as a ruse."

"It will be difficult to arrange a signal that early in the proceedings… it must be something easily recognizable from anywhere in the room but at the same time not something that gives itself away…" He scratched the stubble on his face, he hadn't had an opportunity to shave since being jailed, "Will there be any music played as the guests enter?"

She nodded, "Yes… would a song serve as a signal?"

Tyrion smiled, "I know just the one…"

The remaining days until the wedding were uneventful, he was driven mad by a mixture of anxiety and boredom. He talked to Daven again for some time, and even with the guard, but he remembered few of his conversations with either and he was sure he had some of them several times. The day of the wedding was the worst though, he knew that the ceremony was to occur at dusk, in the Rohirrim tradition. He found himself looking out the small window of the dungeon every few moments to see if the sun would dip low in the sky.

"Knock that off," Daven said from the other cell, "You're making me nervous too."

"If I'm bothering you so much look somewhere else," Tyrion snapped.

"There is nowhere else to look and there's nothing to watch here but you," Daven retorted.

"He's right you know," the guard said, "You need to calm down, doesn't do a man's nerves good to dwell on a coming battle. Sundown'll come when it comes and then we can get you two out of there."

The implication of his words hit Tyrion like a heavy stone, "Has… has the plot been discovered?"

The guard shook his head, "I'm in on it, been in on it for days. Hama gave us our final orders just before I came in here to relieve the last guard."

Tyrion sighed with relief, then another thought struck him, "Since you're a fellow conspirator I don't suppose you'd be willing to bring us some wine for free this time?"

"It' _still_ not an inn Lord Tyrion," the man replied. Daven laughed uproariously at the remark.

True to the man's assurances Sundown finally came. The dungeon of Medusheld was not so far from the main hall that Tyrion could not hear the sound of voices and laughter drifting through the walls and hallways to his ears. The first round of music started playing, a melody Tyrion didn't recognize.

"Sounds like most of the guests are inside," the guard said. He produced a key and walked forward, unlocking each of the cells. "Slide those open slowly, wouldn't do to have someone coming to investigate a loud crash now would it?" Tyrion followed his instructions and slowly eased the doorway open, there was a small creak but no crash.

"I need a sword," Daven said, looking around the room.

"Check the chest there," the guard pointed to a small wooden chest next to a desk. Daven opened it and produced a one handed longsword.

"Armor?" Daven asked eagerly, but the guard shook his head.

"It was hard enough getting that in here, much less a full suit of armor. Lord Tyrion there's an axe in there as well." Tyrion walked forward and pulled an short handled axe, one that would be held in one hand for most men and two for him. "I'd heard dwarves fight with axes, I thought that it might suit you."

Tyrion weighed it in his hands, "I appreciate the sentiment but I'm afraid I'm not that kind of dwarf."

"Let's be off then," Daven said, stretching his limbs, "I've been in that cell too long."

"Not yet," the guard cautioned, "No one can see the two of you out of your cells until the trap is sprung. Wait for the signal."

Soon enough the music changed and the familiar notes echoed down the hall to them and Tyrion felt a sense of satisfaction knowing that his plan was about to go into motion. _Perhaps I am something like father after all…_ the thought made him less uncomfortable than it might have, he felt himself begin to whisper the lyrics from memory.

" _And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low?"_

 **A/N: It seems the reviews aren't showing up for some reason. I looked around and it seems some other stories are having this problem too, I get the notification and it says reviews have been added but they just don't show. I guess we're just stuck until fanfiction . net fixes it.**


	55. LV The Sellsword

**LV**

 **The Sellsword**

Bronn was still unused to the armor of the doorguard of Medusheld. It was heavier than his usual mail, with a scaled front and plate covering his arms. Helmets he'd usually gone without, and this one reminded him why. Though the faceplate would provide some extra protection he found it difficult to see out of the eyeholes and his peripheral vision was limited. _I'll throw it off once things start,_ he decided.

"Sers" Shagga and Lyle were on each side of him, also wearing the Rohirrim armor. The three of them were standing at attention behind a table where a number of food items were arranged, mere appetizers to the feast that would follow for the guests. In the center of the main hall wooden pews had been carried in to seat the wedding guests. Hama and the rest of the Doorguard, their fellow conspirators, were in the forward half of the hall while Grima's men, marked by the black plumes on their helmets, were clustered closer to where the bride and groom would be for the ceremony.

"We'll have to rush up there to Lady Eowyn," Crakehall whispered, glancing around to make sure they were out of earshot of any of Grima's men, "the last thing we need is her held hostage."

"She can handle herself until we reach her," Bronn said, remembering the lady's quickness on the day of the prince's burial, "She's a fighter, that one."

"Lyle," Shagga said suddenly, "What do you think is in that?" he tilted his head towards a large pie, the size of a shield at least, that waited at the end of the table.

"Gods willing it's peaches," Crakehall whispered back, "But if it's being served before the feast I'd think it would be either vegetables or meat."

"Only Andals would put vegetables in a pie…" Shagga muttered, a look of disgust on his face.

Bronn sighed, "Shagga, do the Stone Crows bake pies?"

"No," Shagga replied, "Pies are stolen from Andals, and when they have vegetables in them the Stone Crows throw them at trees."

"Now really," Crakehall replied indignantly, "That is just-"

"Hush," Bronn said harshly, and the two were silenced. A sudden groaning noise echoed from Shagga's stomach.

The clansmen looked embarrassed, "Shagga has not eaten anything today…"

"Why not?" Bronn asked, exasperated.

"The feast," Shagga replied, "It would need to be eaten after this anyway… Shagga was saving room."

"Just take one of those sausages," Crakehll said as he pointed to a platter piled high with the food in question, "It'll hold you over."

"Don't," Bronn said firmly, "We need to stand at-" but it was too late, Shagga's hand darted forward grabbing one of the small sausages, but it wasn't fast enough. Grima, who had been at the front of the hall shaking hands with entering guests had briefly turned his head towards them at the exact moment Shagga had grabbed the meat. An angry expression came over his face and he stalked towards them. He was wearing a series of grey dress robes rather than his usual black.

"I saw you take that!" he said, pointing a finger at Shagga, "This food is for the guests only!"

Bronn stepped forward quickly, "I'm sorry sir, after the ceremony I'll have this pair of half-wits flogged for it."

Grima nodded then narrowed his eyes, "Hama will need to provide some discipline to their commander as well… what is your name?"

"Arnolf my lord," _I think that's the stableboys name…_

"Son of?" Grima inquired.

Bronn waved a hand dismissively, "You wouldn't know him your lordship." Grima glared at him in response but said nothing, walking back to his assembled guests. Bronn breathed a sigh of relief.

The music was beginning to play now, and the guests were finding their seats. Eowyn entered the room now, wearing a pristine white dress, though forgoing the traditional bride's veil. The crowd gasped, for she was beautiful, and Bronn found himself taking a moment to watch her approach the front of the room as well until she was standing next to Grima. Even king Theoden, seated in a padded chair off to the side of the couple, smiled briefly before his eyes glazed over once again.

" _Eowyn…"_ he wheezed with a smile, "Your wedding already?" though his words were softly whispered they managed to carry through the hall to where Bronn was standing. He shuddered, _I hope the Stranger takes me before my mind goes,_ he thought, _that's no way to live_. The lady of the hour did not glance the king's way, forcing her gaze straight ahead. _Good head on her,_ he thought, _Best not to get emotional right now._

The song they'd all been waiting for began to play, the low somber tune of the Rains of Castamere echoing through the hall. It had been he who had taught it to the minstrels, whistling the tune until they picked it up, he'd learned it well over years of drinking with Lannister men and the Doorguard of Medusheld had as well when Ser Crakehall had sung it for them the previous night.

He felt himself tense as he saw Eowyn move forward, she lifted her dress slightly and with a flourish drew the sword he knew had been wrapped to her leg. With a spinning motion she brought the tip just under Grima's chin. There was a startled gasp from the crowd and the music stopped.

"Grima Wormtongue!" She yelled so that all could hear, "I accuse you of treason against Rohan and the murder of my cousin Prince Theodred. I declare myself regent of throne of Rohan until such time as my brother returns or until the recovery of my uncle, the king." Her eyes were lit with hatred now, the fury that had been suppressed over the week before bubbling over, "Tell your men to throw down their weapons and no harm will come to you."

Grima blinked as his eyes focused on the blade in front of him, shock quickly turning to rage, "What is the meaning of this! The King has vested authority in me to-"

"To murder the prince?" A new voice called, those in the hall turned towards the hall where Daven Lannister stood, Tyrion and another guard behind him. "The orcs who slew Theodred carried the white hand of Saruman!" Daven shouted, "They struck us from behind because they _knew_ where Theodred's force would be," He pointed at Grima, "They knew because they were told by you!"

Grima's normally pale face was crimson with rage now, "Enough of this! Lady Eowyn lower that sword before you hurt yourself. Your majesty if you would-"

The king tried to say something but was wracked by a coughing fit. A pair of Hama's men had moved close to him, flanking each side. _As planned,_ Bronn thought, _Last thing we need is the old bastard catching a stray sword blow._ Several of the Doorguard also stood on both sides of the pews, effectively blocking the unarmed guests in.

Grima seemed to notice this and his eyes narrowed, "Hama. Kill these men and have Lady Eowyn subdued until she comes to her senses."

Hama stepped slowly down the aisle and sighed, "Lord Grima," he drew his sword, "I'm afraid that you're going to have to come with us. Please don't make this any harder than it needs to be." As he said it the rest of the Doorguard drew their weapons. After throwing off the helm as he'd planned Bronn did the same, out of the corner of his eye he saw Crakehall and Shagga holding sword and axe as well. Seeing the assembled blades Grima's men, mostly sellswords by all accounts, looked at each other and drew their weapons too, huddling together defensively.

"Treason!" Grima seethed. Suddenly he leapt backwards out of range of Eowyn's blade, the only thing that prevented him from hitting the floor was the arms of one of his men. "Kill them!" he shouted, pointing towards Hama, "Kill them all!" There were screams and gasps of panic from the guests but Hama's men kept them contained in the pews.

"Well that's enough of a "hostility" to start things off I think!" Crakehall bellowed. Shagga roared with agreement and the three of them moved as one towards the black plumed men. While several of them ran forward to engage Hama's guards a party of perhaps five of them turned towards them.

Bronn allowed the first man to run to him, screaming a battle cry. He easily blocked the man's blow and brought his knee up into his groin. As his foe doubled over Bronn pulled away and put his sword through his shoulder in a quick stabbing motion, causing him to drop to the floor screaming in pain. He stabbed the blade downward again through the back of the man's neck. He looked to his side to see Crakehall had already downed his two attackers, one man cut from hip to spine lay bleeding out and the other was now being choked to death by the knight who had somehow gotten close enough to get one of his hands around the man's throat. As he stopped twitching Crakehall dropped him to the ground unceremoniously.

There was a wet *thunk* suddenly, "Greet the gods Andal," Shagga said, he'd planted his axe squarely in the man's face and was now leering at the final figure that had attacked them.

"I…" The man dropped his weapons, "I surrender! Please-" Another *thunk* and Shagga's axe was buried in the side of his neck. The clansman pulled it free, grinning. As he turned to face them and saw their expressions the smile faded, "It could have been a trick," he said defensively.

Bronn shook his head, fighting a chuckle, "Of course, I saw the hidden dagger too, "Ser" Shagga…" He looked to see that there were no longer any men standing between them and Grima. The rest of the traitor's men were fighting with the Doorguard and Eowyn. The lady in particular seemed to be making mostly defensive motions, likely due to her lack of armor. He saw Daven Lannister as well, his great beard making him seem like the lion that was his family crest.

"Let's go finish this," Crakehall muttered.

The three of them walked forward, seeing them Grima began scurrying against the wall, "You need to be more careful with your coin friend," Bronn remarked, twirling his blade with a flourish, "Not all sellswords are created equal. You can't just put a sword in the hand of a tavern brawler or a petty thug and expect results."

"I'll pay you!" Grima said suddenly, "Anything you want will be yours!"

Bronn sighed, "Maybe a few weeks ago I'd have considered the offer, but you're finished mate." He gestured to the few men who still fought, "Order them to stand down."

Grima looked around frantically, suddenly he grabbed a bow and quiver that were hanging on the wall. Pulling one arrow out he let the rest clatter to the ground as he ran in the opposite direction of their approach. In a surprisingly smooth motion he nocked the arrow and brought it to his shoulder.

"STOP!" He cried, calling all attention to him. He was aiming the bow directly at the decrepit king, the two men to his side made as if to step in front of their monarch but Grima saw the motion, "STEP AWAY OR I WILL LOOSE THIS ARROW!" He screamed desperately. The room grew quiet, and looking at one another the men slowly obeyed his words. Theoden muttered something but Bronn didn't hear what it was. "I was never one for swords, axes or lances," Grima said as he stepped towards the middle of the room, never taking his eye, or his arrow, off the king, "But bows… I had some skill with bows."

 _Shit,_ Bronn thought to himself, he sheathed his sword and his hand went to the dagger he kept in a small scabbard on the back of his belt. He drew it silently and weighed the knife in his hands, _I can make the throw in a tavern game well enough… but would he see me before I did? What if it doesn't kill him quick enough?"_ He kept the blade between his fingers but made no move.

Eowyn stepped forward, "Grima," She called, her voice growing soft, "Show that you still have some honor, some decency. Put down the bow."

"Honor?" He spat, "This was to be our wedding!"

"A wedding built on treachery and lies!" she retorted, growing angry again.

"Lord Grima," Tyrion said suddenly, Bronn hadn't noticed in the commotion but he had made his way around the room to Hama's side, "You've made your play and it has failed. Don't make a mistake that will cost you your life."

"My play has failed?" He mocked, "No, you fools are the ones who have failed. You are right in that I do serve Isengard, and I did send Theodred to his doom. It was my only choice after years of seeing slow witted oafs run this land. Theodred would have ruined us in a pointless war, and in any case I've had enough of never getting praise, never getting what I deserved!"

"Me?" Eowyn said bitterly, "You believe you deserved me don't you?" His silence was answer enough. She dropped her sword, it clanged against the wooden floor. She walked deliberately towards the king.

"Stop!" he begged, but it was no use, she came to a halt directly in front of Theoden, blocking Grima's shot.

"Win, lose, or draw Grima, you will _never_ have me. Loose your arrow."

Tears were in the corners of his eyes now, "Lady Eowyn move!" his voice cracking with emotion, "You don't understand, there are Uruks coming here, coming to all holds in Rohan. The first will reach here by the day after tomorrow. If I do not tell them to stand down they will slaughter everyone in their path… including you." There was a shocked silence, followed by murmuring. Hama's face went white and Bronn felt some trepidation himself at the news.

If Eowyn had heard him her face hadn't changed, "It saddens me to hear it… but if you would take Rohan you will not take me as well. Loose. Your. Arrow."

The tears Grima had been holding back welled up and Bronn saw the man's fingers twitch, _Now or never,_ he thought. As quickly as he could he brought the dagger around and hurtled it towards Grima, there was a cracking sound as the knife passed through the shaft of the arrow, breaking it, and a wet smacking sound as it embedded itself in the man's arm. An axe flew forward as well, striking Grima square in the back. He screamed in pain, dropping his bow and causing the two split halves of the arrow to clatter to the ground. Grima joined them there soon after, blood pooling around his still form.

Everyone was quiet for a few minutes, the few remaining men who had served Grima dropped their weapons and held their hands high as Hama's men moved to restrain them. Shagga walked to Grima's corpse and pulled the axe free, taking in everyone's shocked expression.

"Was that not the right thing to do?" He muttered.

"Under the circumstances I think it was appropriate," Tyrion said, walking forward to examine the body. He grimaced and stepped back to the rest of the guards, "He's dead."

"The orcs!" Someone in the crowd called, "They'll butcher us now!" There were sounds of panic and Hama's men again struggled to keep the guests contained in their seating.

He walked to Tyrion and Eowyn who were talking, "What now?" he asked them over the racket.

"We must prepare to defend the city," Eowyn said in a tired voice. She turned to the pair of guards flanking her uncle, "It is late, take the king to his chambers." Theoden only sighed in response as the men helped him up and began guiding him towards the hallway leading to his bedroom.

"What about them?" He asked, gesturing to the guests, who were still yelling in tones that ranged from indignant to panicked.

"I suppose with the head of the snake cut off and their lives on the line they'll be loyal enough," Tyrion said. "Ser Lyle!" he called. The knight was cutting himself a piece of the great pie from earlier.

"It's a mutton pie!" he called to Shagga, who was lumbering over to it as well.

"Crakehall!" Tyrion barked, getting his attention this time.

"Yes Lord Tyrion?" he called back, a plate in one hand and a fork in the other.

Tyrion pointed to the guests, some were now trying to climb over the backs of the pews, "Get their attention for me."

Crakehall sighed and put down the utensils, "QUIET!" He shouted, his deep voice booming through the room. The guests finally silenced, looking to him. "Listen up!" He yelled, "Lord Tyrion here has some things he'd like to say!"

Tyrion stepped to the front of the room, "Let there be no illusions, you all played some part in what occurred here tonight, either through your actions or inaction Grima was able to bring this wolf to our door." He paused, letting it sink in. "But the easy path has now been blocked, an army comes, and whether you would follow Lady Eowyn or not war is upon you. This is an army of orcs, no quarter will be given, no entreaties made, and with Grima dead no relief offered. You have a choice now, you may wait in the dungeons of Medusheld, and I must say I've found them quite amenable," there was a small chuckle from the Doorguard at that, "Or you may gather your households and prepare for war with the enemies of Rohan."

"Lady Eowyn," Hama said, "Is this what you command?"

She sighed, "Yes, all who fight in the defense of Rohan will be pardoned for their roles in Grima's treachery. Release them." At her command the guards moved away, allowing the guests to slowly file out, muttering to each other.

"Was that a wise move?" Bronn asked once they were gone.

"I doubt most of them knew what they were signing on for," Tyrion remarked, "It's easy enough to convince a man to trade favor for favor, much harder to convince him to knowingly engage in treason."

"They are Rohirrim," Eowyn said, "Their minds were clouded by greed, now that the enemy has shown his face they will fight in defense of their homeland."

"I'll keep an eye on some of the stronger ones regardless," Hama said, "Can't be too careful."

"No you cannot…" Tyrion said quietly, his eyes drifted to the food table where Crakehall had returned, now arguing with Shagga over whether some sauce they'd found was meant for meat or pastries. "Well it would be a shame to let all that go to waste… shall we?"

"I'd say we've earned it… or at least I have," Daven said.

Bronn smiled, "I'll fetch us some mead from the cellar."

 **A/N: Reviews appear to be back. It's a nice day for a red wedding...**

 **Guest who just wrote wow - Is that a "wow this is great" or a "wow I hate this and hope the author dies?" ;)**

 **Guest who wrote about LOTR getting dragged down - It's part of the universes bleeding over a bit, yeah the ASOIAF characters become more heroic, but some of the LOTR characters also become less honorable. Kind of sad to see true, but a part of the overall theme of the story.**

 **L'Etranger0 - Sorry I have Theodred and Myrcella's stories planned out already, a good suggestion for an alliance though and I had considered it when plotting the course of things**

 **DigitalSorceress - Well history is written by the winners, I'm sure if Eowyn asks there's any number of bad things to be said about the Reynes. Of course the whole response to the Reyne-Tarbeck rebellion is still over the top by LOTR standards.**


	56. LVI The Hound

**LVI**

 **The Hound**

They'd passed from the boundaries of the Shire easily enough, the rangers at the Brandywine met briefly with Strider as they'd left, hushed whispers going back and forth between them. He saw one of the rangers glance at him suspiciously, and he returned the look with a sneer. For their part the Rangers had suffered as the hobbits had, on the left side of the bridge men were laid side by side, on the right there was a pile of dead orcs. One of the men began throwing oil on the orcs as they crossed, and looking back sometime later Clegane saw smoke rising into the sky from the pyre.

"Well this is it," one of the hobbits, Sam, said suddenly, "If we go any further it'll be the furthest away from home I've ever been…"

"You serious?" Clegane asked, "We can't be more than sixty miles from Hobbiton!"

"Hobbits rarely travel," Strider said, peering ahead, "They don't even like to cross the river back there if they can help it."

"It's not respectable you see," Merry said, pulling a carrot from one of his pockets, "Adventuring… why old Bilbo set his family name back a generation at least!"

"It's true," Frodo said smiling, "before my uncle's adventure we Bagginses were considered very respectable folk."

Clegane snorted, "What sort of "adventure" was that? Delivering a letter to the next town over?"

"He journeyed to Erebor, far to the East of here, he was with the party that reclaimed the Kingdom Under the Mountain from the dragon Smaug," Frodo replied, "The first leg of his journey mirrors our own, they journeyed to Rivendell to meet with the elf lord Elrond."

"You fought a dragon didn't you Ser Clegane?" Pippin remarked, "It's what I heard anyway."

He sighed, "In my youth I fought in a war where our enemies marched under a dragon _banner_ , so we called them dragons. All the dragons in Westeros were dead years before I was born."

"There's few enough left in this world," Strider said, "Of the great flying wyrms Smaug was probably the last, though the crawling dragons and cold drakes still linger in the Withered Heath." He seemed wistful a moment, "In time they'll pass into legend…"

"If they're anything like the dragons where I come from then good riddance," he said, "The world's better off without fire breathing monsters big enough to swallow you whole."

"Dragons are not the only things the world will lose as it ages," the ranger said quietly, his hand going to a small pendant around his neck.

They continued riding, he found he got along well with Strider, he'd never been one to swap war stories with other men, and neither was the ranger. Their conversations mostly revolved around their respective travels through Eriador and the Shire. The hobbits though… well Frodo and Sam were pleasant enough, Merry and Pippin on the other hand were beginning to wear on him.

"So Pippin and I were talking Ser Clegane," Merry said the next day.

"Were you now?" he pulled his wineskin from his belt and uncapped it, it was nearly empty and he had a feeling this conversation would finish it off.

"Yes, well you see we couldn't help but notice that you have a spare weapon," the hobbit pointed to the knife on Clegane's belt. "If we should run into any unpleasantness it might be better to spread the blades around the group."

"I don't think so," he replied, "You'll cut your cock off by accident on some stupid dare-"

"But you taught Smallburrow how to use a sword!" the hobbit protested.

Clegane rolled his eyes, "Robin was a shirriff, you two are a pair of troublemakers."

"Cockrobin became a shirriff for the free beer!" Pippin started.

"Quiet!" Strider called suddenly, cutting off the conversation. They looked ahead to see a party of four men had appeared around a bend in the road, the sound of the other party's conversation now beginning to carry to them. The men spotted them, and after trading a few words and pointing they laughed. As they drew closer Clegane could see them more clearly now, they wore dirty boiled leather armor, and each man carried a weapon. One of them, the leader judging by the fact that he possessed at least a helmet and buckler, stepped forward.

"Greetings travelers," he smiled, revealing a mouth with many missing teeth, "On your way to Bree?"

"Our business is our own," Strider replied, "I'm afraid we have little time to talk friends," he gestured for the party to continue but the other man pulled an axe from his belt loop.

"Not so fast," he said, "This is a toll road now, to pay for protection you see."

The ranger raised an eyebrow, "By what authority do you collect this toll?"

"By the order of Bill Ferny, sitting Mayor of Bree," the man replied.

"Bill Ferny isn't the mayor of Bree," Strider said slowly, his hand going to his sword.

"He is now, since the attacks it was decided that more pragmatic leadership was needed. We're out here providing security for travelers and collecting a toll to support his mayorship's plans."

Clegane rolled his eyes and drew his sword, "I'm tired of dancing around what this is, you lot throw down your weapons and you don't have to die today." Strider drew his own sword and the men seemed to pause, for a moment Clegane thought they would run.

"Wait a minute… ain't there a reward for Shire hobbits?" one of the men said, pointing to the four on the horses.

"That there is," the leader said, "A hobbit named Baggins is wanted for disturbing the peace…"

Strider spurred his horse forward and with a wide swing brought his sword down on the nearest man's head. Clegane, following his lead, yelled furiously as he rode towards them. He reared Stranger high, letting the horse deliver a kick into the nearest man's skull as he stabbed another through the chest. The final man, eyes wide with shock, dropped his sword and ran towards the woods on the south end of the road. Clegane dismounted and made as if to chase him but he was stopped by Strider.

"He won't survive the Old Forest, let him go."

"If it's all the same to you I'd like to see him dead myself," he said, sheathing his sword.

"Don't go in there, you must take my word for this," Strider said firmly, "The Old Forest is… wild, if you go after him neither of you will be heard from again."

He shrugged, "You seem like a straightforward man Strider, but if you really think Grumpkins and Snarks are going to kill him-"

"I've seen some of those "grumpkins and snarks" myself, stay out of that forest."

Clegane was quiet a moment, but nodded, "Fine, I will." He walked over to the dead men's bodies, stooping low he collected their weapons. Walking towards the shocked hobbits he handed each of them one, ending with Merry receiving an axe that looked more suited to woodcutting than war, "Don't cut your cock off."

"It looks like we can't move through Bree," Strider said grimly, "we'll have to pass around it."

"This lot could've been lying," Clegane said, "Highwaymen usually do."

"No," the ranger replied, "There is a Bill Ferny in Bree, he's known as a spy and occasionally a petty thug when rivalries between merchants flare up… it seems he's found himself a new employer, one that has directed him to seek out Mr. Baggins here." He gestured back to Frodo

"So what are our options then?" The hobbit asked.

Strider stroked his chin and thought a moment, "We cannot go North, a man of old Angmar, Agandaûr, gathers dark creatures to him in the ruins of Fornost, he will have a much stronger watch on the road than these mere ruffians."

"Well we cannot go south if the bloody forest is so dangerous now can we?" Clegane remarked, looking again into the dark woods. As if in answer to his remark a scream echoed from somewhere deep within the trees. Clegane raised an eyebrow, "Sounds like you were right, what's in there anyway? Are we safe out here on the road?"

"We're safe enough on the road," Strider replied, "the trees in there are awake, and angry. They sway when there is no wind, and they move about you, drawing you further in until there is no escape. It's not evil, not really, but it is no place for men or hobbits."

"Why not just chop it down?" Clegane asked, as he said it there was a groaning noise from within, like creaking wood.

Strider held a hand towards it, "By all means Ser Clegane, try."

He looked again at the trees, it was impossible to see more than a dozen feet into forest, even in the daylight, "Point taken," he said, "So what route can we take past Bree?"

"We will pass beyond the forest and then we will go South… through the Barrow Downs." There was a gasp from Sam, and the other hobbits looked uncomfortable as well.

Clegane sighed, "What are the Barrow Downs?"

Strider was quiet a moment, "They are the tombs of the men of Cardolan, one of the Dunedain kingdoms. In days of old the Witch King of Angmar cursed them to be haunted by dark spirits… the tombs became the home of the barrow wights."

Sandor looked into the forest, queer sounds echoed from it, "And these barrow wights… I suppose they will not let us pass uncontested?"

"They're more of a myth than anything," Pippin explained, "A story to scare young hobbits."

"Are they real Strider?" Frodo asked, worry in his voice, "if they are… perhaps Bree would still be safer."

Strider sighed, "I will guide us through the Barrow Downs, I have been there before. Danger stirs only in the deepest parts of the ruins, if we only skirt the edges we will be safe from both Ferny's men and whatever might still be lurking there."

They continued on in quiet for a time, only the clack of the horses hooves on the stones to break the silence. After several hours the trees of the old forest gave way to rolling hills, though the ones to the south, where their path lay, had little vegetation. Eventually they broke camp, Samwise, Frodo's gardener, prepared dinner for them from a rabbit shot by Strider and the remaining vegetables Merry and Pippin had stolen from Farmer Maggot. The hobbits soon began to discuss friends they knew in the Shire, holidays they'd celebrated there, and a number of other cheerful topics that belied the bloodshed they'd been witness to. He and Strider sat a bit apart from them, the ranger was smoking a long pipe, a habit Clegane had seen among the hobbits but never tried himself.

"Resilient lot aren't they?" Clegane commented, "Let's hope they keep their heads if we run into any real trouble."

"Don't let their innocence fool you," Strider said, "Hobbits are a brave folk when pressed to action."

Clegane snorted, "I've killed plenty of brave men who didn't know what they were doing, I reckon you have too. What good will bravery do the likes of them? What good does it do to stand against a force you simply can't overcome?"

Strider frowned, "When I was young someone once told me that all that is needed for evil to succeed in this world is for good men to do nothing." The ranger pulled his hood low, "You take the first watch."

Clegane nodded and stood up, walking to the edge of the camp, when he'd gone a little ways he found a good solid rock to sit on. With the hobbits and Strider asleep he was alone with his thoughts _All that is needed for evil to succeed is for good men to do nothing…_ The fire was burnt down to a few embers now, in their fading light he thought over his conversation with the ranger. _Good men did nothing in Westeros…_ He thought of the oaths of knighthood, of the men who didn't honor them… of Gregor. _Why… why_ doesn't _anyone ever do anything to protect the weak, to punish men like him._ His last thought stung the most though, _Why haven't_ I _done anything?_ He scowled, _because I'm not a good man…_

His thoughts were interrupted by torchlight further down the road, he got up and walked to Strider. Rather than saying anything he just prodded the man's shoulder to wake him up, when the ranger looked at him quizzically he pointed down the road. The torchbearers were coming into view now, at least fifty of them.

"A search party, probably for the men we killed earlier," Strider said grimly, he sprung up and walked to the hobbits waking them one by one and holding a finger to his lips to indicate the need for silence. The six of them quickly mounted up their horses and followed Aragorn as he led them off the path into the hills. The men were drawing nearer to their campsite now, there were perhaps fifty of them, and all heavily armed. They were poking around their campsite.

"They can't have gotten far!" one of the voices carried to them, suddenly there was a clang, Clegane's head whipped back to see Sam had dropped one of his pots and it had struck a stone. "Over there!" The voice called, "Come on!" the men began running in their direction.

"Seven hells Gamgee!" Clegane snarled.

"Into the Barrow Downs!" Strider called, "They won't follow us there!" they all spurred their horses forward, a thick fog rose from the ground further in and soon the shouts and light of the torches from behind them faded. Clegane reared Stranger up to take stock of the situation, he saw that Frodo and Sam were with him, their horses panting, but Strider, Merry, and Pippin, were gone somewhere in the fog.

"Did you see which way they went?" he whispered to the two hobbits, but both shook their heads. He scowled and dismounted, "I'm leading on foot, the last thing we need is to gallop into a gopher hole and snap a horse's leg…" he drew his sword and began walking into the fog, Stranger needed no prompting to follow him, nor did the hobbits.

The moon was rising high now, the pale white light illuminating some of the shapes in the fog. He saw great stone monuments sticking out of some of the hills, barely visible through the gloom. They rose like great square teeth into the sky, in spite of the warm summer air he shivered.

"Ser Clegane is it wise to go any further if we don't know where we're going?" Frodo whispered.

"I've seen a few maps of the Shire and Bree," he replied, "if we head southwest we'll come out on the road south of Bree, we'll find Strider and the others a lot easier there than we will in this shit." There was a rustling sound somewhere, though he saw not a single tree with leaves on it. Idly he reached back to Stranger and grabbed his dog shaped helm, buckling it to the rest of his armor.

They traveled again in silence, a jibbering laugh echoed from somewhere far ahead, "What was that?" Frodo whispered to him.

"A bird," Clegane replied, but in truth he was sure it wasn't. He gripped his sword tighter.

"It's a barrow wight Mr. Frodo!" Sam began, "It'll grind us up and-"

"You are starting to damage my calm," he cut the hobbit off, "Be quiet unless you see something." They continued a little further until he heard a gravelly voice calling out of the mist.

 _Cold be hand and heart and bone, and cold be sleep under stone…_

He paused, had he imagined it? He turned back to the hobbits, "Did you hear-" but they, and their horses, were gone. "Frodo!" He looked about frantically, "Sam!" he cared little for stealth now, calling as loud as he could, but there was no answer.

 _Ours they are now fool knight, as are all within our sight_

Instead of fear Clegane found anger, and then hate rising within him, "Come out then and take me!" He shouted, but there was no response, only a sound of shifting earth somewhere. "Fine then, I'll find you…"

 _Be now careful what you seek lest you find your spirit weak_

"Fucking riddles," he snarled, "I'll pull out your tongues!" Stranger snorted behind him in agreement, he could sense the horse was as angry as he was. He began stalking through the fog, "Sooner or later I'm going to find you bastards…"

As he walked through the mire he saw a figure slouched against one of the dead trees on a hillside ahead of him, it was small, the size of a child… or a hobbit. He ran forward eagerly, Stranger whinnying behind him, but he stopped as he reached the figure. It was…

"Sister!" he whispered shocked, she lay there against the tree, her neck twisted at the same unnatural angle it had been at when he'd found her in her room all those years ago… Numb, he reached forward to touch her, but she vanished into smoke as his hand made contact. The anger he'd already been feeling mixed with decades old grief, "What is this?!" He shouted into the fog, "Face me!"

 _You didn't protect her Sandor_

This wasn't the voice from before, it was deeper, firmer… more powerful.

"I was a boy…" he muttered, "What could I do against him?" He continued to walk through the mist, he blinked a tear from his eye and felt his hate returning. Another figure, this time a horse and a grown man, appeared on a hillside next to him.

"Father…" the former head of House Clegane lay dead, his neck also twisted, his crippled horse next to him. There were bruises on his throat, as though he'd been choked. "A hunting accident," he spat, "leaving Gregor to inherit." He didn't bother touching this phantom, and as he walked past he saw it disappear like the first one had.

 _He wasn't saved either…_

He didn't respond to the voice, only gritting his teeth, forcing himself to step forward. He was comforted by the sound of Stranger's hooves against the ground. _The Stranger… my surest companion,_ the thought made him smile slightly.

His path was flanked by dozens of bodies now, maybe hundreds, men, women, children, all dead in horrible ways. He turned away in disgust at one, a girl of perhaps ten, who had her belly sliced open.

"What is the point of this?" He said, he didn't bother shouting, he knew it would hear him. "Illusions, only illusions, and when I find you I will make you pay for them."

 _I only show you your own failures…_

"And by doing so you only earn yourself more pain when we meet," he said angrily.

 _But Ser Clegane, I can show you more than these, I can show you a way to salvation, a way that you may protect all innocent life…_

A new figure strode out of the fog, and he gasped again, for it was him… only it wasn't. This Sandor Clegane had his whole face, unburnt, and he wore shining silver armor that gleamed so bright it almost hurt to look at. Without a word the figure raised a clenched fist, a golden ring was visible on his finger.

 _Power, power to do anything, to save anyone._

Clegane took it in for a moment, "The ring… you're saying I could do these things with the ring…" The voice made no answer, he scowled and walked through the figure, his unburnt visage disappearing as the other ghosts had, but the thought lingered.

 _All that is needed for evil to succeed in this world..._

"Is for good men to do nothing," he finished in a whisper.

He came at last to a great ring of standing stones. The fog was clear here, the moonlight shining down on a raised tomb in the center, a tomb which had it's stone rolled away.

"Help!" a voice echoed from within, he recognized it instantly as Frodo's and whether it was another illusion or one of the hobbits he sought he was ready for a fight either way.

"I'm coming!" He called, and with Stranger at his heels he ran towards the Barrow.

 **A/N: Review answers**

 **L'Etranger0 - I'll upload to Archive of our Own, right now I'm on a waiting list to get in apparently. As to the rest, well there will be a few War in the North related cameos but they probably won't develop into major characters since the story already feels a little crowded. Also you're right, Joffrey's royal power, and even that of his siblings, is probably not going to last.**

 **U.N.S. - Dwarves would LOVE the Westerlands, but if Tywin takes the time to read up on them I doubt he'd want large numbers of them living in the Westerlands. They're nice enough in limited doses but whenever they start to feel secure in their wealth they tend to turn into greedy assholes if there's not orcs around to keep them busy. The last thing the Lannisters probably want is to re-enact the "negotiation" scene from the Hobbit where everyone begs Thorin to see reason and let them into Erebor. That said, if he wants to win the war who knows if Tywin will have the option of turning them down.**

 **ErnestShipplinglane98 - Here's Aragorn again! Anyways we haven't seen him, Clegane, and the Hobbits for awhile because I didn't want to break up the Osgiliath battle or the events in Rohan.**

 **Saswot2000 - Jaime would've been fun to write as a member of the Fellowship, but it's not the nature of the Westerosi to have their lord's sons out on quests like that... plus Jaime works better at the head of a column of knights than as a single man wandering through the wilds.**


	57. DC79 I: Cerenna Lannister

**A/N: This is an extra chapter written by DC79 of Spacebattles, it takes place back when Eomer had first arrived at Casterly Rock and it stars Cerenna Lannister, daughter of Stafford Lannister and brother to Daven Lannister.**

 **Cerenna Lannister**

To say Cerenna Lannister was initially disappointed was an understatement.

Naethan presented to her with the sum total of his collections, after a six month expedition into Middle Earth. During the first month after the Arrival, there had been acquisitions made that were tantalizing hints at the nature of the new world. When she had learned that long stretches of empty wastes bordered where the Westerlands now lay, she had gotten impatient and loaded up a carriage with a chest of gold and anything else she thought worth trading. She wanted to know. She wanted to know everything, and so had sent Naethan, her most loyal servant, on a mission to return with knowledge, as well as material goods. Truth be told, she was the second child of the brother of the late wife of the Lord Paramount; despite her family's wealth all of it came from her purses and personal allowances, so it was not a problem she had unlimited Dragons to throw at until she was satisfied.

He had departed a few weeks before the first snowflakes began to fall. Time passed, and rumors reached her ears of the kingdoms that lay to the North and the East. She heard talk of the Elves, which as near as she could tell was a name for a culture, like the Andals or the First Men. The Elves had fractured into several small kingdoms that were both hidden by and part of the vast woods that engulfed the North. _They must be the closest this world has to wildings_ had been her first thought. All heard talk of Gondor and there was some frightened whispers of what lay to the East. She didn't doubt that other Lords had sent similar expeditions- perhaps Naethan would not be the first to return, but she still imagined gaining a bit of glory for herself by opening wide the history of Middle Earth and making it accessible to the people of the Westerlands. She had already acquired a book on the founding of the House of Eorl or Rohan, and learned many of its customs. She was somewhat amused that according to legend, the dragons of Middle Earth were as intelligent and verbose as any man. They lusted for gold, thought conveniently they were all long dead- else they might be a particular bane to House Lannister. King Fram had supposedly slain the great dragon Scatha alone. but there were references to Scatha's size, and he slew him without aid. True, Scatha was of a flightless breed of dragons, but unless his entire body was as soft and pink as a newborn kitten, this was an incredible feat.

In this uncertain time, her books were a balm to the anxiety a heretofore unknown world beyond their borders brought up. The Citadel wasn't an option, and frankly, she was glad of it. Maesters were expected to excel at and learn of a great many fields of knowledge. She cared little for potions, ravenry, warcraft, smithing- history and culture was her passion. Her father had chided her for such unfeminine pursuits because they came at the expense of her expected duties- her needlecraft was mediocre at best, for starters. But there was no putting the cork back in that bottle, so he indulged her.

She supposed she had enough of the famed Lannister beauty; certainly the golden hair, lithe but shapely figure and the emerald eyes would please a suitor enough to let her pursue her hobbies as long as she also managed her wifely duties. But the slightly upturned button nose and large eyes made her look rather doll like at times. Not to mention the slightly uneven teeth- she was no Cersei, though from what little she remembered of her cousin before Robert's Rebellion she was glad. In any case, there were many other ladies in her own family who a knight or Lord might ask for their hand after winning a tournament or some such display before her.

On the subject of Cersei, her youngest children were both rather sweet natured, even if the young King was rather short tempered in the face of losing most of his kingdom. She was glad his illness prevented their paths from crossing, but then her brother Daven had been sent away on an expedition to the north of where the Westerlands now resided. The departure of her beloved brother and her favorite servant quashed any relief she had over not having to deal with her annoying cousin. It had been a whirlwind few days- her father, Ser Stafford Lannister, had agreed to send his wife and daughters on a trip to the Golden Tooth to visit the Leffords, Lady Myranda Lannister's family. They had even allowed Naethan to accompany them to the Tooth before he had continued on. But as the trip was about to get underway, Joffrey had fallen ill and Daven had been sent on a mission so urgent that he couldn't even accompany his mother and sisters partway; he had to leave immediately.

It had been a nice enough visit; the banners had been made ready at the Tooth in the event that either Gondor or Mordor turned out to be hostile. She met many a Lord and Knight that she had grown acquainted with over the years, but it seemed all talk of marriages was on hold until it was determined what lay beyond. To which she was profoundly relieved. It seemed negotiations with Gondor had gone well enough that Lord Tywin had departed They spent the winter in the Tooth, and just when Myrielle had started to gripe about missing the Rock

Blast it all, but she had missed the presence of two wizards. The Tooth had been host to the Steward of Gondor's second son Faramir during the intial diplomatic meetings, and he had brought a wizard with him. A few men who had seen him swore that Gandalf the Grey had made sparks and light appear out of thin air, creating art out of them as they darted to and fro. But he had departed even before Faramir had returned to Minas Tirith with Ser Jaime. And when they returned home, she learned that Lord Tywin himself had sent away another wizard, Saruman the White. Fewer spoke glowingly of him than they did Gandalf, least of all her Aunt Genna. The amount of disdain the de facto matriarch of House Lannister could fit into a few syllables when speaking of the wizard was remarkable.

But the point was, either could have been an invaluable source of lore and history of these new lands, and through sheer bad luck and timing, she was back to waiting for Naethan's return.

The coming spring was promising to thaw the unfathomably short winters of Middle Earth, and the people of the Westerlands finally believed the rumors. Cerenna, having been born in the year of the False Spring, and possessing barely any memory of a grueling winter, had thought it a poor trade. To have a summer so short the snows were back in the blink of an eye... to never again enjoy a long summer. But then she felt the cold chill of the winter, and was pleading to the Seven for the rumors to be true. And devout as she was, she remembered to thank Them for this when the snows started to thaw.

And Naethan returned with the spring, with artifacts. She had eagerly dug into his acquisitions almost immediately after they were brought to her chambers. She had hoped that the carriage would be filled to the brim with books, paintings, anything of value that could tell her more about the history of this new world. She supposed the books would provide context for much of the art and artifacts. The first of these was a portrait of a tall man wearing a great winged helm at a beach. He had fallen to his knees with a look that resembled... joy? It was hard to tell. Behind him nine enormous ships were visible in the distance, and other men like him were disembarking from rowboats that had obviously come from these ships. Both men and ship alike were adorned with what she knew to be the symbol of Gondor-

"'The Coming of the White Tree to Middle Earth,'" she read the title at the bottom of the frame aloud.

Naethan next produced a framed map of Gondor and this Mordor she had heard so much about. In the lower left corner she could see a small portion of where the Westerlands would one day reside. By now many maps had been made and passed out to the Lords of the Westerlands; this was the first she had seen of the time before the Arrival. She noted that there did not seem to be any cities marked in vast stretches of Gondor, fitting with what she heard describing their neighbors as sparsely populated despite fertile lands.

She sorted through the trinkets. There was a small sculpture of what looked like a hulking lizard, its neck as thick as its muscular body. A broken helm engraved with that same white tree, and numerous other items... but not quite the haul she had expected.

"I brought back a lesser quantity than perhaps my lady had hoped for, " Naethan explained, having stood silently as she inspected her prizes. "But last but not least is a collection of what you wanted. It was the most expensive purchase I made, and I believe the most worthy."

 _Books..._  
"Did you return with any of my gold?" she huffed.

"No, my Lady," Naethan quickly replied. "But I think what I brought is worth every Gold Dragon, no matter how unimpressive this collection looks. A Lord of sorts died, and his children were selling his possessions... they were destitute, what with the ongoing war. But they would not haggle at all for these books. Too important, they said. I- I admit fault in not concealing my homeland more discretely. Once they knew I was of the Westerlands, they were even more obstinate. They saw the lion seal on the chest of gold you provided me with, and word has already spread of our House's wealth." She thought of scolding him, but she had to admit, said wealth left many a Lannister not learning the fine art of haggling. She looked at the bottom of the chest:

3 pairs of moderately thick books lay within, each pair bound with a leather strap. Gently, he undid them all, and presented them to Cerenna. And lastly, he presented a tube from the chest. It was of a finely lacquered wood that was coated a great many years' worth of dust.

"What I have here is said to be a full accounting of the history of Middle Earth to at least a thousand years ago," he explained.

Cerenna slowly opened the tube and produced a roll of parchment as ancient, cracked, and yellowed as any she had ever seen. She delicately unrolled it and read aloud:

 _"The Enemy has beaten us. A great sickness has spread across my kingdom like wildfire and it can only be carried on the foul winds from the east. Even now, the last citizens of Cardolan are stricken and awaiting the release of death. The hordes of the Witch King have yet to invade us in our weakened state; I fear they are enjoying our slow demise far too much to grant us a quick release."_

"My greatest gift to the World of Men is hope. The hope we shall find in our history, if only we are allowed to remember it. Contained within is the truest accounting of Arda, from the moment the Great Music birthed Ea to the recent shadow that has fallen over my kingdom of Arnor. The gathering of these tomes and hiding them away is my final act before leaving this city- in spirit, if not in body. I had hoped to die in battle against the Enemy, but I lay in my sickbed, my body ravaged by disease, knowing the same sickness killed my realm as surely as its people. May they serve you as well as I attempted to serve the people of Arnor."

Prince Dervorin of Cardolan  
In the Year 1636 of the Third Age."

"The merchant explained to me that evil spirits now roam free over Arnor," Naethan murmured. "These books were retrieved at great cost- the night is dark and full of terrors in the lost kingdoms. A land as terrifying as Asshai is now as close as the North... best to know of it as soon as possible."

Cerenna looked to Naethan. She had to admit, she was struck by the despair in that message from the long dead Prince Dervorin, and at the back of their mind she thought he might be somewhat disappointed at where his cache of knowledge had ended up.

"These.. these could be invaluable to the people of Middle Earth," she said. "Would it be right for me to keep these, if these are such rare editions? What if this Prince was right and we stand between the people of Gondor and their lost history?"

"Well, it'll take some time to get the word out of this finding," he shrugged. "We haven't even trained all the ravens to all these new cities- I think you will have plenty of time to enjoy them." But still, she looked at him skeptically.

"I've served you faithfully, my Lady," Naethan swore. "I truly believe I have spent your Dragons well." But there was a hint of pleading in his voice, asking for her understanding.

"Well, delaying serves neither of us. Go, rest. See your family. I have a lot of reading to do before I know if my money was well spent." He nodded eagerly, and quickly departed, but she stopped him before he reached the door with a single sentence: "I'm glad you're back." He smiled at this. "I may yet find I underpaid for this once a standard for currency conversion is set." Naethan nodded, and she waved at him to continue on his way. Truth be told, she didn't really believe that, but there was always more gold where that had come from. Best now to examine her prize.

There were six volumes, numbered in the following order.

 _I. Ainulindale  
II. Valaquenta  
III. Quenta Silmarillion  
IV The War of Wrath  
V. Akallabeth  
VI. The Stirring of the Shadow_

She devoured them. A lady had her duties; she knew her Uncle, the Old Lion himself, might take a greater interest in the marriages of his kin than her father; Ser Stafford had always been content to wait for an opportunity to come to them. One had... but the young man, the second son of House Shermer, had died of what Daven had solemnly (and somehow still tactlessly) called "a pissing disease," saying that even when his survival was still undecided he would not be able to perform his husbandly duties. This had dragged on from when she was fifteen until last year when young Aldos Shermer finally passed. He had seemed an earnest young man, if not dreadfully dull. The searches began again.

On the last night before his expedition into the wastelands she had a long private conversation with her brother about this, among many other things.

"I'm sure Father and our Lord Uncle want to marry you and your sister to one of these Giants of Kings," he had chuckled. "I heard some of these Gondorian peasants speak of a race of Men, all of whom as tall as the Mountain himself. And of course they're as wise as all of the Maesters in the Citadel and could reduce even the heartiest of warriors to tears with by a harp and a single song."

"And what would do you think the women who birth these giants be like, dear brother?" The implication for his own marriage prospect was clear.

"I would hope gentle, if only for my sake," he laughed. "A broken cock is still a broken cock no matter how sorry she is." Myrielle laughed at his ribald jokes when not in proper company, but Cerenna had never cared to. His booming laugh always got louder when she rolled her eyes at his jokes, but she at least didn't begrudge him that.

"I'll be back- I promise," he finally said, when the grin finally faded. He quickly embraced his sister to make this point.

"Most who die far from home make the same promise," she sniffed, gripping him even tighter.

"Well, write a song about me if I don't," he chuckled.

"It will be a sonnet, not the tavern song you surely would prefer," she had replied.

"Just as well- I don't need a song to be remembered in the taverns of Lannisport," he had said, before ruffling her hair. They had spoken of his impending journey, saying that she was planning to send one of her own servants to gather lore, writings, and perhaps a valuable artifact or two. She lamented the necessity of his leaving, and. He had somberly said he had other duties to perform during the journey but said no more.

But now, any search for a suitable marriage had been quashed, as House Lannister would doubtless look for opportunities in these new strange lands. So she was free to read, not having to entertain potential suitors.

But back to the chest.

Within was a nearly unbroken history of this new world, and she read until her eyes burned. The ladies at court who she considered her friends missed her presence at Court- she explained she had her share of duties to the New Realm, as she called it, and she would be re-joining them shortly.

The books spoke of the Great Music, the song of creation composed by Eru Iluvatar, the One God, and sung with him by the Ainur, a host of angelic spirits who preceded the world. Great Music... Cerenna thought. Every man, woman and child in the Westerlands had heard the song that announced the Arrival. It was the most beautiful music she had ever heard- she could not, if asked, say for sure if they were voices or instruments. It was a seamless blending of the two into something wholly unique. But now she knew divine music was said to have sung "Arda" into creation. And a Great Music had taken her homeland and placed it and all of its people in a new world.

Her faith was the constant balm through all of this. It was her rock, her sword and her shield. She would often pray to one of the Seven who she felt she had neglected in her other prayers- even the Stranger, for was he not the one all men would meet? But this music heralding an event far beyond any feat attributed to the Seven and an explanation that hinted at something greater...

These books claimed that there were peoples, these "Elves," who had met these Valar. And what they described was very unlike the wilding-like people she had imagined. That they were the first Children to awaken to this world, and were it not for the strife that followed those who were First Born would still reside in Middle Earth today.

The great Enemies- first Morgoth, and then his lieutenant, Sauron, who was said to trouble the world at the time of these writings nearly 1,400 years ago. In The Stirring of the Shadow it was stated his greatest servant, the Witch King of Angmar, was still begrieving the world of Men and few doubted he acted alone.

And lastly, the histories were an almost seamless fusion of legendary times to the more grounded present. Maester Yandel's histories speculated about what more grounded realities lay behind the histories of the Dawn Age and the Age of Heroes. Surely the Children of the Forest did not break the Arm of Dorne with their great magic, but instead it had to be a natural event. Lann the Clever surely did not live to be 312 nor could he have gained power over the Casterlys by impregnating numerous ladies in their sleep. Surely he most likely was a retainer who had weaseled his way into acquiring the hand of the Lord's daughter in marriage and went from there.

But these books sure a slow but sure progression from a world unrecognizable to the Middle Earth of today and slowly but surely became the world different but familiar to the Westerman. But the books spoke of how Eru Illuvatar Himself made the flat disk that was Arda into a sphere, and the year and date was given. There was no speculation, nothing lost to the veil of history that a historian would have to piece together.

So... what? What did this mean for her? For the Faith? She had thought to discuss this with her cousin Lancel, but the flames of his newfound piety would doubtless lead to a more heated discussion than she cared to partake in. There was more than one Sept in the Rock, and the one she had always attended had been presided over by Septon Archer since before she was born. She brought him a few of these books, and asked him to read them, but to keep the contents to himself. She requested his time to discuss her concerns about them. And truth be told, she was drained. Final victory had come over Morgoth. But she read of Hero after Hero, both man and elf alike, fall in the battle. The futility of the War of Wrath, the tragedy of the curse laid upon Turin Turambar. The duel between Fingolfin and Morgoth was another that affected her deeply. A sense of melancholy seeped through every page of these books, and into her as she turned every page.

The final victory over Morgoth himself could at best be called bittersweet if one stopped reading there... but read on she did. The shattering of Beleriand was the least of these tragedies. And so she read of Numenor... these seemed to be the giants of men that Daven had spoken off. Again, reference was made to the brother of its fonder Elros, lord Elrond himself, still residing in Rivendell at the time of 1636 of the Third Age. Had he too fallen to the Enemy in the intervening 1,400 years? But Numenor's reign was another glorious day that also faded into the night. An echo of familiarity brought to mind the Valyrian Freehold. But it echoed a promise made earlier, and the breaking of that promise brought what could only be a divine wrath on Numenor- quite different from constantly active volcanoes suddenly reaching a furious peak.

A week after she had started, she spoke to Naethan about what she had read so far.

Naethan had always served her so well, always following her instructions to the letter. Had he been taken in by the awe inspiring way in which they found themselves in a new world?

"I asked for a written history," Cerenna sighed. "You gave me a religious text." Truth be told she was disturbed by what she read, and was trying to seem casual in her reprimand.

Naethen shook his head. "The merchant was quite insistent that all of this is really true. I mean, that Prince thought it important enough to seal it away as his final act."

"It seems to merge mysticism with history. And there seems to be less magic in the world the closer we get to the present. Maester Yandel would find that to be very convenient."

"I have been told that..." he paused, "The Lady Galadriel still resides over Lothlorien in the far Northeast. The very same Lady who was born in the Years of the Trees." Naethan had taken time to peruse every volume he purchased on her behalf. At that moment, Cerenna was at a loss to determine which of the two of them was the more gullible. She was trying to find any hint that he had been played for a fool to assuage her own terror.

"I- I will go to Lothlorien. Or to Mirkwood. Anywhere these elves reside, to see them for myself if you give me the word, my Lady," He placed an affirmative palm on his chest, and he awaited her approval.

"No, that won't be necessary," she finally said. "I gave you your mission in my impatience for knowledge. It would be another long journey, another long wait. I- I think I am content to wait for the answers to come to me on their own this time."

Naethan nodded, and she dismissed him again. She had put up a much braver front to him than she actually felt. She knew this was far different than what Maester Yandel wrote of. And so she continued. What little was left were amazing additions to an incredible tale, but this tale was left with no solace to take in the final defeat of the great Enemy, so she drew little satisfaction from this knowledge. Then the nightmares came.

The first night after she finished reading the books, two weeks later after she had started, she had lain in her bed, her eyes wide awake. She imagined a vague black form, man like in its shape but several times larger, laughing as it loomed over her, three burning lights in its forehead obscuring its face. A twisted hand that could engulf her entire body reached for her. Panicked thoughts ran through her mind as her legs worthlessly tried to force her from her spot: _I am a mite, I am nothing, I should be beneath the attention of this Dark Lord_ \- before the black shape engulfed her, forcing her awake.

She looked out at the new ocean, to the West. Dare she try to spot Earendil the Mariner's faint point of light traversing the heavens? Would the sign of the great hero reassure her... or terrify her by confirming the truth of these terrors?

She requested dreamwine that night. A last image came to her before succumbing to sleep- that of fourteen great figures, standing at the edge of the horizon beyond the sea. The smattering of clouds present passed over their faces. They could each behold all of the West under their gaze, but she felt as though all of them were focused on her.

It was another week before Septon Archer invited her to his Sept, when he told her had finished reading the Histories. He sat her down at the edge of a pew, and eased himself into the opposite one to face.

Septon Archer's face was that of crumpled parchment, and the constant ease with which he smiled threatened to crack it further.

She told him of her fears, of the nightmares, and how and why they troubled her. When she was done, the old man merely shrugged.

"I fear not these tales, even if they are true. Even if the Faith is based on only a shadow of the true nature of two worlds."

Cerenna was confused. "Would this not... prove your life's work to be a lie?"

"What, these Valar?" Archer scoffed. "If the Seven never existed, the wisdom of the Seven Pointed Star is true and a worthy roadmap for the hearts of men to follow."

"I can hide nothing from you," she explained. "Surely you see how frightened I am at the implications of these stories?"

"Indeed I do, my Lady. You have nothing to fear. And if anything, a great burden should have been lifted from your heart if you saw this as I have."

He gestured for a Septa, and she brought him a lantern and a roll of parchment. Clearly he had prepared this.

"This lantern is a single brilliant light. The truth of men's hearts and the light of creation. These crude forms that are our bodies- and some are cruder than others-" and he ran a finger over the wrinkles that covered his kindly features with a chuckle-"-cannot comprehend the light as it is. We must see seven lesser flames that comprise the luminous whole." And here he unrolled the parchment and held it in front of the lantern. Seven holes had been poked in it, in a star like pattern, and they became seven points of light as he held it in front of the lanterns light.

"But from a distance, fourteen could be mistaken for Seven."  
And he unrolled the parchment further. Now, fourteen holes had been punched in the same star like pattern, in seven pairs of holes. Each pair was cut so closely together that from a distance they could easily be mistaken for one light as Septon Archer held them in front of the lantern.

"But I am of the mind that all could be true. The One. The Seven. The Fourteen Valar. All of it." And he seemed to be excited.

"You'll have to forgive an old man's creaking bones demanding a need for brevity," Septon Archer chuckled. "These pews are rather hard on the joints, so I thought it best to cut to the chase."

"I- I think you're saying that all you have is speculation, and you seemed to have latched onto fourteen being a multiple of seven." She said this with no disrespect.

"I say you have nothing to fear," Archer said soothingly. "Whatever Power is behind all of this, it clearly holds sway in both the Westerlands and Middle Earth. Be it the Seven or these Valar or Eru Himself, I feel that whatever has happened it has brought us closer to the truth."

Cerenna was silent for a long while: "So you're saying you don't know, but you're optimistic?"

"Do you not remember what the Seven Pointed Star says about council given?"

"'Beware he who promises answers to all that is asked of him and even questions that are not,"" Cerenna quoted. "'And be wary of council given that is naught but all the reassurance you sought."

"'Precisely, my dear. Make no mistake, we are living in an exciting time. But I should warn you... there are hard liners within the Faith. I have always held that the great truth is greater than the hearts and minds of mere men can bear. Perhaps they are Seven Who Are One. Perhaps they are Seven unique individuals as adherents to other faiths believe and our comprehension falls short. But many who have made up their minds would not care to hear Father, Mother, Warrior, Maiden, Smith, Crone, and the Stranger spoken of in the same breath as Manwe, Varda, Aule, Yavanna, Orome, Vana, Este, Vana, Mandos, Vaire, Ulmo, Nienna, Tulkas, and Nessa."

Cerenna was impressed. The Histories had so many names that even she could scarcely keep track of all of the Valar, let alone the types of Elves and what lands resided where and when.

She was silent for a long time, and Archer waited patiently for her to speak again.

"Morgoth," she breathed. "If it is true, his malice still taints this world through his servant. We have an Enemy, akin to the Great Other the Red Priests fear so much. Is being closer to the truth worth having an encroaching evil upon us at all times?"

"It means... we have a responsibility now. The men of the West, which includes the Westerlands- we fight the last servant of the Great Enemy. Whatever brought us here surely has wisdom to match its power."

"And you believe the Powers that brought us here think us up to the task?" Cerenna replied. Archer nodded.

"Again, there are others of my Faith who would call any notion of the Valar or Eru heresy, though they have long tolerated the worship of the Old Gods, and even the Drowned God with some derision. But new heresies are always the least tolerated," Archer said darkly.

"You want me to keep silent in this matter?" Cerenna asked, confused.

"No need to involve yourself in a contentious debate when I believe the truth will be revealed to us all on its own," Archer explained.

"But- we should sing the names of Eru, the Valar, if this is all true-" Cerenna objected.

"Not when there are whispers of a new Faith Militant arising!" Archer hissed. Cerenna was shocked- such whispers hadn't reached her eyes, high atop Casterly Rock.

"I fear for you," Archer said, his withered hand clasping hers. "Your sister fears for you. She seemed to have mistaken your scholarly pursuits for a more ominous isolation."

"She came to you?" Cerenna asked, confused. Myrielle was not devout in any way; she could often see her sister nodding off during services, and she certainly could not imagine her seeking council from a Septon.

"She thought I might have insight into what was troubling you so much. She sensed you were troubled even after you completed your new studies."

Myrielle seemed more likely to scoff and think her older sister would get over anything that troubled her given enough time; she had always acted like the older sister despite being ten months younger.

"I wish to do what I can for the struggle against Sauron," Archer explained. "I will not involve myself in strife within the Faith if I can. I hope you can do the same." Many Devout would think it cowardly to keep their heads down during a crisis of Faith- but she saw his meaning. Sauron was the Enemy, not those with a differing interpretation of theology.

With that, he arose, and sensing that their time was over, Cerenna did the same. Despite his hobbling gait, he took her hand and escorted her to the door of the Sept like any noble Ser would.

"Thank you, Septon Archer," she finally said. "I think my nightmares will be somewhat abated. I will still concern myself with 'merely' the tangible armies that may march from the East." The smile was sincere.

"Any time, my Lady. Perhaps you should reassure your sister of your gladdened heart." And he slowly brought the heavy doors to a close.

She barely had time to ruminate on the evening's talk when she heard her cousin Lancel's voice.

"-and these levels were once the highest part of the mines before they were cleared out. Once my ancestors were done with them, these tunnels were completely mined out they spent another century turning it into livable space."

Lancel was escorting an armored man whose mane was as golden as any Lannister, and easily as tall and as strongly built as the Hound himself. But his sculpted visage produced a very different reaction in the pit of her stomach than did that of Sandor Clegane. Shrugging this off, she stepped forward, noting the horses engraved into his armor.

"Cousin Lancel, I had no idea an emissary from Rohan was expected at the Rock!" For an instant she feared they would keep going, but the tall Horselord stopped, an intrigued look on his face.

"I am afraid I was not expected. I am Eomer, Prince of Rohan, nephew to Theoden, King of Rohan. All the same, Lord Tywin has agreed to meet with me."

"Indeed. Our Lord Uncle has requested he be given more comfortable garments to wear while treating with him. And you know how he loathes to be kept waiting." The implication was clear.

Cerenna grabbed her skirt and lifted it up off the ground with one hand, and offered Prince Eomer her free arm "I can easily keep stride with the Prince unless you mean this as an order. I fear to lose an opportunity to forge a tie of friendship to the Prince of a land I've read so much of. And you know no one else is more informed " She gave him a pleading look when she was sure Eomer couldn't see. Lancel was Lancel... but for once, he got the hint. And even he saw the advantages of an attractive, unmarried Lannister maiden ingratiating herself with a prince. Suddenly, she realized she had forgotten her manners, and withdrew her offered arm in place of a hand.

"Forgive me, Prince Eomer. I am Cerenna, daughter of Ser Stafford Lannister, cousin to Lord Tywin."

"Greetings to you, my Lady." She had enough time to will her expression to stay guarded before he kissed the offered hand, before taking her arm as she had offered it before. Lancel led them forward without another word.

"I promise I won't bore you to a standing sleep with the minutiae of the Rock," Cerenna promised. He chuckled at that.

"You know enough of my land to recognize a Rohirrim on sight?" he asked. A horse symbol was obvious enough, but she could tell this was a conversation starter. "The few Westermen I've met on this journey seemed only vaguely aware of my homeland."

"All of my education is for naught with an entire world left behind. I thought it best to begin it anew with the Westerlands' nearest neighbors."

"These are trying times for Rohan, but we are nothing if not welcoming of visitors. Any who would know of us from books is always welcome to see the beauty of Rohan in person. I hope to leave here with more friends than I had when I arrive."

 _Mission accomplished_ , Cerenna managed to keep this to herself.

She had seen artists drawings of Meduseld- she had to admit, she had re-read the text accompanying it, thinking the building shown was a guest or servant house. Even compared to Winterfell, it seemed rather quaint. A faint hum filled her senses as she looked again at the Prince's kind expression and she couldn't quite conjure the same feelings for the more rural nation of Rohan that she had before.

"If you will take the time, Lord Tywin will see to it that you get to behold all of the Rock's majesty before returning home." Cerenna had always been proud of her home, and her eagerness to share its glory was genuine.

"I certainly had not envisioned such beauty, such opulence when traveling here. It was when I started to see the Rock peer over the horizon that I realized the people I had spoken with on my travels here spoke true." He sighed. "But I fear this will be a short visit. All the same, I hope both offers still stand when my business is back in order." And so they conversed about various minutiae of their homelands as they turned corner after corner and ascended one staircase after another. She noted his mention of the Hornburg and his amused frustration at many who used it interchangeably with the valley it resided in, Helm's Deep.

'''Helm's Deep' is just so evocative, though," Cerenna chuckled.

"True enough, but one only has to behold the horn of Helm Hammerhand and to imagine the power of its call and they would scarcely forget the fortress's true name," Eomer replied, amused.

"There's another bit of legend I have read of," Cerenna asked. "The story of your ancestor Fram and the dragon Scatha. Did he really slay the beast on his own?"

"Indeed he did. Though doubtless you know of what he did after, which was less laudable," Eomer said grimly.

"We had dragons in Westeros," Cerenna explained. "But they were but beasts, tamed by House Targaryen to aid in their conquest of the Seven Kingdoms. Three dragons subjugated the entire continent in the name of Aegon the Conqueror. But I've read enough history- the dragons of Middle Earth could dwarf even these monsters, and so many were slain by single men. I could scarcely believe it. Even Ancalagon the Black was slain by a single man

"I would say it's less than fair to compare Men of today with Earendil the Mariner," Eomer replied. "We would fall far short of that standard."

Despite the amusement in his tone, Cerenna sensed something about him. He looked normal enough, and his own golden hair could mark him as another Lannister to the unknowing. And there were plenty of taller men- her own cousin Lucion was taller and broader. _He is still descended from such stock, however distantly..._

"Well, it is good to know Middle Earth has seen such men," Cerenna continued. "A dragon of your lands would wail in ecstasy when he learned of the mines beneath our feet."

"Smaug was the last of such beasts," Eomer explained. "He troubled the Men of Dale and the Dwarves of Erebor for decades before Bard the Bowman brought him from the sky nearly eighty years ago."

"With a bow?" Cerenna asked incredulously. Seeing this, Eomer grinned and nodded.

"Hence the name." _And he says Men have degraded since those Elder Days. Eighty years is nothing in a world with Immortals living in it._

Lancel stopped at a door, and opened it for the prince. "Come inside and we will prepare your new garments. It should not take long, Prince Eomer."

Cerenna knew her presence inside would not be appropriate. A few minutes later, after some murmured conversation from within, Lancel re-emerged.

"It will be a few minutes before they finish tailoring his shirt," Lancel explained. Cerenna nodded, and assumed the perfect posture to befit a patiently waiting lady.

"I had no idea you harbored such ambitions," he said at last. "If you had shown them earlier, perhaps a match with Willas Tyrell could have been arranged."

If this was more astute than was usual for Lancel, it was offset by how loudly he said it. She angrily shushed him, and he shrugged, and spoke no more. A few minutes later the Prince emerged, wearing a hastily tailored buttoned up shirt. It was of green silk, and Cerenna allowed herself the briefest of fantasies that he had chosen it to match the eyes of his new guide.

"I will have the servants return your armor to your guest quarters, Prince Eomer," Lancel explained. The prince thanked him and they continued

"Whatever you may say about the grandeur-" _That's good, I didn't say "wealth"_ -"-of Casterly Rock compared to your home, you cut as kingly a figure as any I have ever seen in such fine clothes." Truth be told the shirt was not as fine as a noble Lord might wear to treat with a foreign ruler.

"If I am only ever marked as a king by my appearance I will be quite pleased," Eomer said with a smile. Right- it will take more deaths than that of the king to place him on the throne. _A brilliant way to remind him of the last thing he would want to happen_ , she chided herself. They were silent for the moment, before that reminded her of something else.

"I hope the host you saw gathered at the entrance to the city did not alarm you. My father, Ser Stafford was training them even before the Arrival." And she was glad of it. Her Uncle Kevan never had a thought enter his head his elder brother had first.

"An impressive host, to be sure," Eomer agreed. "And it would be wise to keep them ready. I will say no more of this until I speak to your Lord Uncle," he added solemnly. War was doubtless forever on his mind.

"And I must say, the fleet I saw gathered at your ports is quite spectacular. Men of Rohan don't quite have the sea legs we could but we are not averse to the oceans."

"And a man or lady of the West might scarcely believe the stories of the amazing power of Rohan's steeds," Cerenna replied. "A horseman can know the open sea and the people of the West can learn of the tales of your steeds are true. My sister Myrielle dotes on her steed and always chides me for my poorer riding skills. Perhaps after a few lessons from a man of Rohan I could show _her_ a thing or two."

"I would insist that a Rider of the Mark accompany a novice rider if trying one of our mounts," Eomer explained. Here, he leaned in so close that Lancel couldn't hear him, if he was still paying attention: "Though i suppose you know that?"

As little as she had cared about the Prince seeing through her, hearing him confirm it brought a flash of crimson to her face.

"Forgive me, Prince Eomer, if I was too-"

"It is quite all right." Now, they had turned the corner to the hall leading to Lord Tywin's solar, and she knew this is where they would have to depart.

"I am glad to have made at least two friendships today," he said, regarding both Lancel and Cerenna. "May they be the first of many. Ser Lancel. Lady Cerenna." He nodded, and departed. If Cerenna thought he emphasized the word friendship when he had nodded to her she hoped it was more to keep her from getting her hopes up rather than a promise of nothing further. But if she knew her Lord Uncle...

And he was gone. Lancel looked at her for a moment, and he seemed about to say something, but she noticed he was clutching the pendant he wore of the Seven Pointed Star. Whatever he was about to say, he seemed to think better of it before wishing her goodnight and departing. _Thinking to warn me away from the heathen?_ she thought absently.

Still, Cerenna left with a skip in her heart. She thought to herself that the excitement she felt was the promise of this new world, the hope in her heart her talk with the Septon had given her. That it was the possibility of the wide beyond opening before her. But she had to admit, the stirrings she had felt began in the moments before she noticed the horse insignia.

But as Cerenna turned the corner, there she was. Her younger sister Myrielle, a knowing smile slowly spreading across her comely features. She was the tall, willowy, golden haired beauty that many others would imagine when hearing the name "Lannister." Any could imagine her dancing through a field of green and gold, like nymphs from legend. But it was that smug grin on that face that those same people could scarcely conjure.

"The word had just reached the ears of myself and the Ladies at court of the visit of a handsome foreign prince, and I had merely hoped to catch a glimpse of him before retiring. But here you are... would you lift the hem of your dress for me to confirm your feet are still touching the floor?" And the chortle as she said this last part reminded her very much of Daven.

"I- I was just performing my duties as a lady of the court of the Rock," Cerenna mumbled. Myrielle ignored this.

"All of this talk of the fear of marrying a dullard, and you were truly just holding out for a handsome prince just like any other starry eyed maiden!"

She thought to protest, but for once, tried to counter with a jest. "I take it then you didn't see him for yourself?"

"A Lioness does not dig her claws too deeply at the first sight, no matter the beauty of the Stallion before her," she said, that smile still on her face. Cerenna was blushing furiously, and Myrielle rolled her eyes and went to her sister, placing her arms around her in a placating manner.

"Oh, come now. The japes of a younger sister should not be heeded so. Come, tell me everything. The other ladies will want to know. "As much as she shared Daven's bawdy sense of humor, she still had her moments. And knowing how worried about her Myrielle had been she knew she wanted some reassurance

Even if she could not resist making a joke or two about mounting stallions.


	58. LVII The Ringbearer

**LVII  
The Ringbearer  
**

Frodo wasn't sure what had happened, one moment he had been with Sam and Ser Clegane, the next he'd heard that terrible voice and then felt an icy grip on the back of his neck and he'd known no more. When he'd awoken it was in some dark cave, but rather than a pitched blackness a pale green light seemed to glow out from the walls. Gasping he sat up, looking around. A few feet from him was Sam, swaddled in a strange white cloth, gold and jewels piled around his still form. He crawled forward and shook him.

"Sam!" he whispered, but the other hobbit was like stone to the touch, at first he'd feared the worst, but leaning in he heard shallow breaths and he sighed with relief. He saw a jeweled dagger among the treasure and took it, raising it before him as he stood up.

Looking around in the gloom he slowly stepped forward, he glanced back at Sam, _I can't just leave him…_ but then he heard a horrible hacking sound, with horror he realized it was a laugh. He looked around and saw a passageway leading away from the noise, without thinking he rushed towards it, crouching down and hiding behind a broken pillar of stone.

The barrow wight, for he was sure now that was what it was, came around the corner. It was a skeletal creature, a black hood shrouding parts of it's face, though he could see the grinning teeth of a skull glinting in the dark and a pair of glowing green eyes. It shambled towards Sam.

 _I could put the ring on,_ he thought, _I could slip by it now and none would blame me…_ But as he saw the wight raising a cruel curved dagger over Sam the thought disappeared. With a yell he ran forward, the thing's head jerked towards him and with a shriek it fell back before his attack. The blade found purchase in it's arm and it screamed again, anger and pain filling the air. There was a sudden burst of air and he felt himself fall back against the wall. The barrow wight pulled it's hood back, revealing it's visage in full.

 _"HELP!"_ he shouted as loud as he could, but he feared none would come. As if sensing this the wight laughed again and raised the knife.

There was a sudden sound of running footsteps and a clank of armor, Clegane appeared, his dog shaped helm glimmering in the strange light. There was a pause as the knight took in the creature, Frodo could see his eyes widen, but then the familiar sneer came over the man's burnt face.

"Get away from them," he snarled.

The wight held out a hand and began muttering something in some dead tongue, but before it could finish Clegane's sword parted it's head from it's shoulders. Headless, the body staggered forward, arms outstretched. His eyes wide with horror Clegane cut the arms and then sliced again through the torso causing the pieces of the creature to fall to the ground. They still writhed and with a grimace Clegane walked over and brought his boot down on the skull, the still glowing green eyes glaring at them.

He turned to Frodo, "You alright?" he asked.

Frodo nodded, then remembered, "Sam!" he pointed to the still form of his friend, and the two of them rushed over to Sam. Rather than dead he now looked like he was merely in a deep sleep, and he stirred as they approached. He blinked and looked around.

"Why's this sword on me?" he lifted the blade off his neck, "What's going on?"

"We were captured by the wights," Frodo said, "Ser Clegane saved us."

"Don't thank me yet," Clegane said looking around, "This is a foul place…" the hacking laugh echoed from another tunnel further down, "Gamgee, grab one of those knives and follow me."

Following his orders Sam shifted, tearing the white robe off of himself, revealing his old clothes. He grabbed the dagger and the two of them followed Clegane down the hall. The green light was pulsing slightly now, and a shuffling sound seemed to emanate from the walls. As they ran behind Clegane there seemed to be movement on the walls, and as the light of the surface appeared before them a silhouette of an arm reached out from somewhere.

"Hurry!" Clegane called, as they passed they saw that the arm was attached to another set of bones that was stirring in a small tomb embedded in the walls. Clegane quickly jabbed his sword into the thing's chest, but as Frodo looked back he saw the skeletal figure rising out of the hollow, a gaping hole where it's heart should have been.

They reached the surface, even the humid air of the Barrow downs was sweet compared to the foul rot inside the tomb. Clegane ran to the rock which had been rolled away from the tomb and put his shoulder into it with a grunt.

"Help me!" he called, and he and Sam ran forward, together the three of them slowly rolled the stone back into place just as another green hand poked out of the underground. There was a crunching sound and the hand fell, detached at the wrist. They stopped to pant for a moment.  
"What are we going to do?" He asked Clegane.

"Whatever it is we need to find out quick," Sam said, panicked, he pointed out into the fog where a number of other green orbs, eyes he know knew, were watching them.

"Shit," Clegane muttered, he stood up, blade in hand, but the figures didn't approach them.

"Why aren't they coming for us?" Sam whispered, gripping his own blade tightly.

"I don't know," Clegane replied quietly, "let's… let's get moving. Stay close me." He thought a moment and then called Stranger over, never taking his eyes from the things in the fog, "Come here you two." Frodo and Sam obeyed, "I'm going to put you on Stranger," as if he understood the horse snorted angrily, bearing his teeth and brushing the earth with his hoof.

"He doesn't seem too happy about the idea," Frodo said uncertainly.

"Hey!" Sandor barked at the horse, causing it to quiet down. He turned back to the hobbits, "Stranger won't let them grab you behind my back again, not without a fight anyway." He grabbed the horses reins and started walking forward, leading the horse, he paused, looking at the eyes in the dark, "If they move, if they start coming after us, yell."

They traveled like this through the rolling hills, the glowing green orbs following them never ceasing pursuit, but never growing closer. After some time the sky lightened and Frodo guessed that it was day. Looking back he saw their pursuers were gone.

"Ser Clegane!" He called, "They've left!"

The man looked back and sighed, sheathing his sword, "Let's have a breather then… I need to sleep. Can one of you take first watch?"

"I will!" Sam volunteered, sliding off of the horse. He pulled his jeweled dagger from his waistband, "I won't let them take me again!"

Clegane nodded, "Whatever those things are... I don't think they like the daylight, even what little of it there is here. Still, make a racket if you see anything strange."

Frodo sighed and unbuckled his traveling cloak. Wadding it into a ball of cloth he pushed it against a nearby rock and lay his head on it, making a makeshift pillow. His dreams were fitful, images of barrow wights and orcs flashed through his mind. Several hours later he turned over, causing a pebble to dig into his side. With a frown he shifted, but he was already awake. He opened his eyes with a sigh to see Clegane staring at him from a few feet away, leaning against a piece of rubble that had probably been a grave at some point.

"Sam?" he asked.

Clegane just pointed to the other side of their makeshift camp where his friend was laying on the ground asleep, "Switched with me a few hours back." Clegane stood up and walked towards him, "Listen Frodo, night will be here soon, those things will be back."

Frodo sat upright, looking up into the big man's eyes, "What are you saying Ser Clegane?"

"This whole journey… it's about getting that ring somewhere else, if they get it from you…"

He felt his hand involuntarily go to the gold band he wore around his neck, "I think it is safe enough with me Ser Clegane."

"Look around Frodo, this place… it's a nightmare, give me the ring and I will keep it safe, just until we get out of here."

 _Does he want it for himself?_ He pushed the thought away, "Ser Clegane it is my burden to carry. I will hear no more of this."

"Fine," the man growled. He stalked towards Sam, nudging him with his boot, "Gamgee, get up. It'll be dark soon and we need to get moving again."

Sam groaned and sat up, "I was just dreaming we were back in the Shire, away from all this…"

They got moving again, the hobbits on foot this time with Stranger bringing up the rear. True to Clegane's words night soon fell and the little sunlight that had shone through the fog disappeared, replaced by the sinister glow of the moon somewhere high overhead. At first they were alone, but then after an hour or so the eyes began following them again.

"What are they up to?" Sam asked in a low whisper, "Why just follow us like that?"

"There's more of them tonight," Clegane replied, not bothering to be quiet, "They're gathering their friends. When they've gotten the whole filthy lot together they'll all come at us at once."

"What can we do?" Frodo asked.

"That one back in the hole… it kept moving until I smashed it to bloody pieces," Clegane said, "I can't fight that many of them, and they know it."

"They've got a foul sorcery too," Sam cut in, they put me under like they were snuffing out a candle-"

Clegane looked back at the green eyes in the fog, "Then I suppose we'll have to be quick and take as many with us as we can."

Stranger snorted in angry agreement.

Frodo said nothing, his hand brushing over the ring. They passed underneath a stone arch that looked familiar, as they entered into a clearing around a central mound Frodo gasped.

"It's the same tomb from before!" He said, "Look!" he pointed to the severed wight's hand that still lay on the ground where they'd rolled the stone back into place.

"We've gone in a circle!" Sam exclaimed.

"That's impossible!" Clegane shouted, but any further comments were drowned out by hacking laughter from the fog. The figures, which had followed them at a steady distance for the past two days now emerged from the fog. Like the wight in the barrow they were rotten, mummified things, the skin around their mouths pulled back in a permanent sickening grin. There were dozens of them, perhaps more, and each carried a cruel jagged dagger.

Clegane ran forward screaming, his sword held high. He brought it down on the head of one, cleaving it's skull in two and causing it to stagger to the ground briefly… but as he backed away they saw it right itself and stand back up, the two halves of it's head hanging to either side of it's torso. Frodo drew his own dagger, and looking to his side he saw Sam with the jeweled knife in one hand and a large cast iron skillet in the other. They all slowly backed towards the tomb as the wights approached, even Stranger, normally full of anger for anyone but Clegane, seemed spooked.

"I'll try to draw them to me, the two of you make a run for it," Clegane said quietly.

"We're not leaving you!" Frodo cried.

"Mr. Frodo's right," Sam said defiantly, "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if we did, not after you came back for us."

Clegane laughed, the wights were less than ten feet away now, shuffling together in a great rotting wall, "Well I never thought I'd die alongside anyone who gave a shit, but then I've been doing a lot of things I thought I'd never do lately." He raised the sword high, "Come on then! Let's get it over with!"

There was a sudden flash of light from behind the undead mob, then a boom as several of them were thrown high into the air, their screeches echoing into the night. A cool wind blew from above clearing the fog away as the sound of steel cleaving bone echoed from the far side of clearing. As the last of the fog dissipated a pointed hat and grey robes became visible.

"Gandalf!" Frodo called joyfully, the Wizard turned to him smiling before holding his staff high, two more explosions echoed and the wights hobbled back into the mists.

"Go from this place!" Gandalf's deep voice called, "Foul the memory and rest of the men of Arnor no more!"

Behind Gandalf Frodo saw Strider, Merry, and Pippin coming into view as well. He ran forward and embraced the wizard in a hug. Clegane and Sam walked forward as well.

"Good to see you again," the knight called to Strider, who nodded in return.

"Strider brought us back to the road after we lost that mob," Pippin explained, "And guess who happened to be riding by?"

"Lucky isn't it?" Merry beamed.

"In my experience Master Brandybuck there is no such thing as luck," Gandalf said smiling. He turned to Clegane, "And you must be Sandor Clegane, the knight that came to the Shire with Joffrey Baratheon."

"And you're a Wizard I'm guessing? The Gandalf the hobbits were on about?" The knight asked.

Gandalf nodded, "I am."

Clegane looked around at the now scattered wights, "I must admit I'm not fond of the last Wizard I met… though I like your work."

Gandalf frowned, "Saruman? You met with Saruman the White?"

Clegane nodded, "I did, he's the one who sent the orcs into the Shire in the first place…" Frodo sensed that there was something he wasn't telling about that but let it go.

"We will need to speak at length," Gandalf said, "I must know the full extent of Saruman's treason."

Clegane snorted, "I don't know what else there is to say, he's a fucking bastard and if I see him again I'm strangling him with his own beard, but if you get us out of this place I'll tell you anything you want to know about him."

Gandalf chuckled a bit at that, "I think I can accept those terms Ser Clegane, let's be off."

 **A/N: Again so there's no confusion the last chapter was not written by me, it was an Omake by spacebattles user DC79.**

 **L'Etranger0 - To find the map I made of the Osgiliath battle just google "Hear me Roar" Spacebattles and the spacebattles thread should be the first hit. Once in the thread if you look near the top of the first post there's a button that says "threadmarks" pressing it will bring down a menu to navigate chapters, the map is marked in there. If you can't find it using the threadmarks it's on page 20 of the thread.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - High praise! I personally think some of the chapters are weaker than others but I won't say which ones. Glad to hear you're enjoying the Clegane chapters, I won't answer some of the other questions because I'm worried I'll spoil stuff.**


	59. LVIII The Horselord

**LVIII**

 **The Horselord**

Eomer sighed as he read through another letter from yet another minor lord, it was full of flowery language attempting to cover for the fact that they would send him nothing, no men, no horses, and no food. He crumpled the letter and threw it to the ground angrily.

"Something wrong Prince Eomer? Can I fetch you anything?" his squire, Podrick Payne, asked from the other side of the tent. As he'd become the de-facto leader of the Westerlands forces they'd pushed him to adopt more of the trappings of their nobility, hence he'd been assigned the boy as a squire. The lords had even provided chainmail and a green tabard bearing the white horse of Rohan, along with a tall banner in the Westerosi style bearing the same standard. The word "Ride" was embroidered in gold beneath the stallion.

"No," He replied with a sigh, "Thank you Podrick, I am merely frustrated at the refusal of these men to fight in defense of their own lands."

He wondered again how he'd found himself in this position. It had seemed such a simple plan, he would lead the forces of Lords Banefort, Marbrand, and Westerling to the Fords of Isen and then leave to deal with Grima, but when they were but half a day's march from the Banefort they'd encountered riders telling them that it had fallen under siege by an army of orcs numbering in the tens of thousands. The news had caused chaos, their force numbered five thousand at most, and only Lord Banefort, mindful of his family trapped within the walls, wished to do battle with them.

It had been the fleeing families that had spurred him to action, many were carrying all that they owned, and the crying of children range from the roadsides. Remembering Lord Tywin's promise that the men would obey he'd ordered them to follow him or face the Old Lion's wrath. That seemed to end the debate and he'd issued orders.

The goblins were in a disorganized frenzy, and only a token force had been left behind to pen the defenders in the Banefort. He'd driven them off easily enough and before more could arrive he and his men had evacuated the Banefort and were withdrawing back down the road. At that point he'd left Lord Banefort in command of the infantry while he and the remaining cavalry had ridden though the hilly countryside attempting to cover the escape of the remaining peasants. After all was said and done hardly even a skirmish had actually been fought, but thousands had been evacuated before the goblins had gathered in force again and were prepared to fight them, and Lord Banefort had embraced him when they'd met again, tears of joy in his eyes upon hearing news of his family's safety.

They'd withdrawn down the road towards their current encampment outside of the Crag, the ancestral stronghold of the Westerling family. It had been recently repaired and would have accommodated the lords well enough, but following Eomer's lead they were encamped in tents with the rest of the army.

Not a day later they'd received the raven from the King, Joffrey had allied himself with the goblins in a bid to overthrow his grandfather, and he'd promised gold and glory to all who would declare for him. It hadn't been long after that the word of the rebels had reached them, the first claimed to be a Bastard of the Reynes who had escaped Tywin's massacre years ago, the second claimed to be the missing son of Lord Tarbeck, long thought dead. Joining them was Lord Farman of Fair Isle, though by all accounts he'd limited his aid to piracy of ships leaving Lannisport.

Eomer's thoughts were interrupted by a messenger entering his tent, "Lord Eomer," The man said bowing slightly, "the raven has returned from Casterly Rock."

Nodding he took the scroll from the man, he'd sent for reinforcements from the seat of the Lannister's power. Tearing the seal open he read it,

 _Prince Eomer_

 _Your entreaties are heard and know that Jaime now marches for the Westerlands. I must ask that you hold your position alone until his return. I am sorry to say that my nephew Lancel has declared our family "cursed" and even now gathers men for his new "Faith Militant" with the purpose of evicting us from the Rock. There is perhaps hope he can be brought to reason, but until his force either stands down or rides to your aid we cannot spare any forces from the city. I know this is not your war, and none will think less of you if you give up command, but a Lannister always pays his debts, and we have found ourselves indebted to you.  
_  
 _Hear Me Roar_  
 _Genna Lannister_

 _Not my war,_ he thought angrily, _I cannot return to Rohan while that army blocks the way._ He sighed, "Podrick, gather the lords. We need to have a meeting."

Some time later Lord's Banefort, Westerling, and Marbrand met in his tent and took seats around a table he'd had set up. Lord Banefort smiled on seeing him, an unnerving gesture from underneath the dark hood that he and his household insisted upon wearing whenever they weren't in armor, and Westerling nodded as well. Marbrand had brought a pitcher of wine and a number of cups.

"So Prince Eomer, is this a toast to our impending victory or a drink to take our minds off how bad things are?" Banefort asked.

"The latter," Eomer replied bitterly, "No help is coming from Casterly Rock, evidently Lancel Lannister has formed something called "The Faith Militant" and is threatening his own family members." A round of groans went around the table and Marbrand poured himself a cup of wine and drank it in a single gulp.

"That lumpy little bastard," Marbrand growled, "The Faith Militant? Surely the septons are condemning this?"

"I'm not so sure," Banefort said, "Some of them have been rather… radical, since The Arrival."

"So we're trapped then," Westerling muttered, "The rebels to the South and another Mad King to our North."

"Lords Tarbeck and Reyne have gathered perhaps four thousand men-" Eomer began.

"False lords!" Westerlng cried, "Their claims are nothing but a mummer's farce."

"Be that as it may," Eomer continued, "They've gathered four thousand men to our south, if necessary we can defeat them and retreat along that route towards Casterly Rock."

"And abandon the Crag?" Lord Westerling balked, "But it's just been repaired! It's as defensible-"

"So was the Banefort," Lord Banefort replied, "But we are outnumbered to such a degree that it hardly matters."

"Jaime Lannister marches to our aid, but he must march from Minas Tirith." Eomer said, "We are faced with two choices, we can march South and engage the rebels… after we defeat them we can march towards Casterly Rock and Lannisport."

"It's too far," Banefort said, "We're going to have half the peasantry of the Banefort and the Crag with us… The elderly, the sick…"

"More importantly we need to ask what might be waiting for us at Casterly Rock," Marbrand said, "If Lancel should wrest Casterly Rock from Genna we would be between him and Joffrey without the benefit of a fortress to cower in."

"Which brings us to our second option," Eomer continued, "We can flee to Lord Marbrand's hold in Ashemark. We would be closer to reinforcement from the East and we may be able to keep the eastern side open to resupply.

"You've read it right," Marbrand said grimly, "I'll send a raven to my wife to prepare for our arrival."

Lord Westerling sighed, "I shall direct the smallfolk to gather provisions for the journey… It just doesn't feel right to abandon the Crag without a fight."

"We'll come back for it," Banefort assured him, "For the Banefort too… they'll pay for this."

Eomer nodded, "It's agreed then. We must move as soon as possible, I don't want the rebels or the goblins to realize our plans and move on us." The men got up to leave leaving him alone again with Podrick.

"Prince Eomer, shall I prepare your horse?"

"Yes Podrick, that would be for the best I think" He replied. He sighed, _I need to get back to Rohan…_

Suddenly Podrick returned, "Prince Eomer an envoy is here from the king."

He raised an eyebrow, "An orc?"

Podrick shrugged, "I don't know m'lord, but he's at the edge of the camp."

Eomer grabbed his helmet and put it on, walking out of the tent and through the camp. He noticed in the corner of his vision that Podrick was scurrying behind him, desperately holding the Rohan banner high and waving it from side to side. Seeing a few of the men who had accompanied him from Rohan, fifteen now, down from twenty, followed behind him. Sure enough several men had an orc, tied and bound, waiting on the edge of their camp.

"Ah finally!" The orc muttered, "Tell this lot to let me go! You can't treat an envoy like this!"

"An orc dares to criticize our civility?" Eomer asked, "What is your business here?"

The creature gave a toothy grin, "I am Narg of Goblintown, I am here on behalf of Barg, son of Bolg, the Great Goblin and Lord of the Misty Mountains, and Joffrey Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. My lords request a meeting with the commander of this rabble."

"A trap most likely," Eomer replied, "And what guarantee do we have of our safety if we agree to this?"

Narg smiled, "The word of a king of course!"

Eomer rolled his eyes, "Where and when do they wish meet?"

"There is a hill twenty miles North of here, come at your earliest convenience. Each party may bring ten warriors… count yourself fortunate that my lords wish to give you a chance to submit yourselves to their mercy."

"I will be there," He growled, "But if I suspect treachery…"

"Of course of course," Narg said, "Now have these fools let me go!" He gestured for them to untie the orc and it scurried back up the road before he could say anything else to it.

"Are you really going to meet with them Prince Eomer?" Podrick asked.

He sighed, "Perhaps King Joffrey can be reasoned with."

Several hours later he and ten Rohirrim, plus Podrick, still holding the standard high, rode to the hill where he could see several figures waiting. The first was a great fat fleshy mass being carried by a number of smaller orcs, the other was a boy of perhaps sixteen dressed in shining armor and wearing a golden crown. They brought their horses to a halt about twenty feet from the gathered orcs.

"That's more than ten men," Joffrey said suddenly, pointing to Podrick, "I thought we'd agreed-"

"And you've got more than ten orcs," Eomer retorted, pointing to the several that were hoisting the goblin king upright, "Say what you have to say."

"To put it plainly I'd ask for your surrender," Joffrey said smugly, "I know you can't possibly have more than a few thousand men down there, and loyalists are amassing to your rear."

"Rebels you mean."

" _You_ are the rebels!" The boy screamed suddenly.

"Now now King Joffrey calm yourself!" Barg said cheerfully, "No need to get upset over men who will be dead within a day or two." He glared at Eomer, "That is if they make… unwise choices." The gathered goblins chattered with laughter.

"We are gathering forces, and in time we will crush you, do you think your "loyalists" will remain so when they see what you've done? What monsters you've brought to these lands?" Eomer said angrily.

"They will do as I say," Joffrey replied with a sneer, "I am a king, I reward those who are loyal and I punish those who are not. Their lives are mine to do with as I please."

"And I suppose you think this lot is loyal?" He said gesturing to the goblins, "They'll roast you over a fire the moment they have your family's gold."

"Now I must object to that!" Barg said indignantly, "At first I had my doubts about our little king here… but he has earned the title Goblin-Friend! Even now we feast on the Baneforts stores and gather her treasures, we will soon be the richest orcs since the sacking of Gondolin!"

"As I said the rewards for entering my service are great," Joffrey said with a grin, "And the punishments for defiance severe… as the lord of the Rohirrim host found out."

Eomer's eyes went wide, "What have you done?" He asked emotionlessly.

"Prince Theodred of Rohan fell before my might," Joffrey gloated, "I saw his banners fall-"

Eomer spurred his horse forward, raising his lance high. He threw it with a scream but Joffrey pushed one of the smaller orcs in front of himself at the last moment, taking the point through it's chest.

"Treachery!" Barg called, and from behind rocks and trees behind him orcs begin appearing, angry cries echoing over the hills.

Eomer realized his position suddenly, and reared his horse back to retreat. An orc jumped on his back and for a moment he feared he would fall but then it was knocked off with a screech, a crossbow bolt in it's side. As he rode towards his men he saw that Podrick had dropped the banner and had drawn a crossbow that he'd slung across his back before they left. Once he'd reached them they fled together back towards the crag, the orcs were unable to match their speed and soon they were out of reach of the enemy.

He brought his horse to a trot, gripping his reins angrily. He felt a tear touch his eye but blinked it away in anger. _Theodred is dead while I am trapped here…_ As they rode back into the camp he felt numb.

"Prince Eomer… I trust negotiations didn't go well?" He turned to see Lord Banefort, still wearing his hood, waiting near the camp's entrance.

"No they did not…" He looked to the hooded man, "How long until we are prepared to leave?"

"We can leave by daybreak tomorrow," Banefort replied.

He nodded grimly, _I must bring this war to a quick end…_ He made a sudden decision, "Send the peasants to Ashemark, we are going to Casterly Rock."

Banefort raised an eyebrow, "Won't that leave them undefended?"

"The goblins are after plunder. They will go to Casterly Rock once they have the Crag. We will arrive first and end the standoff between Genna and this "Faith Militant."

"And if we should arrive to find Lancel Lannister as lord of the Rock?" Banefort inquired.

"Then we will die before its walls," He said grimly.

 **A/N: Regarding some confusion about orcs vs goblins, in the books orc and goblin are used interchangeably, though goblin is often used to refer to the smaller orcs of the misty mountains.**

 **Lukas098 - Agandaur is probably not going to be a major plot point but you might hear about him and the other War in the North characters now and then. As for the LOTR Online stuff I've already consulted with some of it.**

 **DuesalBladesinger - Saruman considers Joffrey largely expendable, a pawn to help him take the Westerlands.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Well if it eases your disappointment recall that the Witch King predicted he and Jaime would meet again... Also I'm pretty sure kinslaying just counts as kinslaying once no matter the degree of the relation.**


	60. LIX The Queen

**LIX**

 **The Queen**

When word of Joffrey's betrayal had come her father had yelled at her more fiercely than he ever had, and though he was bedbound by his injuries she had still shrunk away from him in fear. The worst part was what he'd said when he'd exhausted himself and could roar no more.

"Cersei," he'd wheezed in a low voice, "You are a disappointment."

That had hurt her the most

She had expected Jaime to come and comfort her later that night, efore the battle they had been meeting in her room in the ruined palace after the other occupants had gone to sleep. She had waited for him for some time, but when it became clear he wasn't coming she'd gotten up and gone to his chambers herself.

She knocked lightly on the door, "Come in," She heard Jaime say in a low voice. As she entered she saw that he was awake, and in fact had a lantern burning as he sat in a padded chair in a corner of the room. "Sit," he said motioning her towards the bed. She hesitantly did so.

"Jaime," She began, tears welling in her eyes, "What are we going to do? Father… He will have Joffrey killed!"

Jaime was silent for a moment, "Cersei..." He got up and walked to a window, never meeting her eyes. "Gods why now," he muttered.

"Jaime?" her crying stopped a moment, "Will you say nothing?" anger flared in her, "That is our son, that is _your_ son!" He was still silent, she walked to him furiously and grabbed his shoulder pulling him around. She was shocked to see tears in his eyes as well.

"Joffrey is mad Cersei, as mad as any of the Targaryens," he said, "Do you remember what the Septons used to say about that?"

"That their insanity was a punishment for the sin of incest," She whispered in shock. She shook the notion from her head, "Damn them all Jaime, he's just headstrong, he will listen to you!"

"Headstrong?" Jaime asked incredulously, "Cersei he has lead an army of orcs to our home, even now people are dying at his command!" He was angry now, "He will not listen to me, nor to anyone." He grew quiet again, "I sired him… but I am not his father."

"There is still time," Cersei pleaded, "If you save him from the orcs we could raise him together, make a true knight of him-"

"It's too late for that," He cut her off, "Maybe if I'd been closer to him, gotten between him and Robert…" He scowled angrily, "There is only one path left now."

 _One path?_ Her eyes went wide, "No, I won't allow it!"

"I fear that what you or I want or will "allow" doesn't matter…" He sighed, "Not in this world."

"You took oaths to protect him!" She said angrily.

A small grin went over his face, but she saw the tears well again, "Did that stop me last time?"

 _He's really going to do it,_ she thought with horror, _he will kill our son!_ "And you would add kinslaying to kingslaying?" She asked with a sneer, "You seem overly worried of late about what the Septons or the gods will think, what will the gods think of _that?_ "

"A fair penance perhaps," he murmured.

"A _penance?_ " she nearly screamed, but remembering the others in the palace she kept her voice low. "Jaime what madness has taken hold of you?"

"This is all madness, it always was," he replied, turning towards the window again. "Tomorrow I will lead an army home and I will destroy him. By my sword or by my command Joffrey will fall."

She felt the tears overwhelm her now and she broke into crying again in earnest, draping herself over him in a loose hug. She felt his strong arms wrap around her and pull her close, and for a moment she was comforted.

"You've always been my sword and shield," she whispered into his ear.

"And you were my ray of light," he whispered back.

They pulled apart and she raised her head to look him in the eye, "Jaime," she said quietly, "if you love me… if you ever loved me… Do not do this thing. We can leave together, tonight even! Middle Earth is vast, much of it empty, we could live somewhere far away from all of this!" A small smile was on his face and she could tell he was thinking about it, but then it disappeared.

"Goodbye Cersei."

She glared at him, bile and hatred rising within her, but she could tell there was nothing left she could do to convince him of anything.

"Go then, and never speak to me again." She turned and stormed out the door, she didn't make it back to her chambers before she felt the tears rolling down her face again. She locked her chamber door and poured herself a cup of wine. She drank until sleep took her.

She awoke the next morning to a pounding headache, with an angry groan she forced herself towards a mirror that had been placed in her room by servants. She made an attempt to grab a hairbrush and begin preparations for the day but then she caught sight of her reflection. She looked beneath her chin to see what might've been fat, and she swore that the creases on her face were more pronounced. She grabbed her empty glass and threw it at the mirror, shattering it.

Later when she was well enough to stand and had changed dresses she exited the room and walked to the lower levels of the palace. A few inquiries revealed she had missed Jaime's departure, but she found she didn't care. She ordered her things collected, _I will return to Minas Tirith,_ she decided, though what she would do when she got there she did not know.

Myrcella had greeted her fondly at least, as had that little tart Jeyne Westerling, but she found her thoughts drifting back to Joffrey and Jaime and by the evening she found herself too drunk to speak with either of them.

At least another day passed like this, but when she awoke again she found that the two redcloaks guarding her refused to fetch her anymore wine.

"When my father hears of this-" she growled.

"Lady Cersei your father has ordered us to do no more than protect your bodily safety," the guard replied, "We are forbidden from assisting you in any other matters."

 _Damn you father,_ she thought angrily, but she stormed out of the room. _I will have Lord Denethor provide me with a Gondorian servant,_ she thought, and she set out to look for him.

She found the steward in the main hall of the citadel pouring over a map with a pair of other men, "Lord Denethor," she called, "If I may have a word…"

He raised an eyebrow, "Certainly, is privacy needed?"

She looked at the other two men and suddenly felt embarrassed, "Yes," she lied.

"Leave us," he said to the men and they obeyed without hesitation, walking out the great doors of the throne room. Her own guards looked at one another before following the Gondorians.

"What is it?" he began, "Is Lord Tywin-"

"This is a personal matter," she said, "My father has… neglected certain needs of mine, and I was wondering if perhaps your household could spare some servants for me?"

He stared at her for a moment, "Lady Cersei I will not involve myself in your family squabble, quite frankly this is highly inappropriate-"

"I am to be your daughter in-law, surely that should afford me some privileges?"

"You are not married to Faramir yet," he replied with annoyance, "If you need to speak with him your father is recovering in the Houses of Healing, and in any case your brother Tyrion fulfilled whatever desire I might have had of seeing a Lannister drown their sorrows in my wine stores."

Her resolve broke then, "I… I cannot face my father again."

Denethor sighed, "Lady Cersei, I do not mean to seem uncaring but we all have problems right now, and I must see to planning the city's defense."

She clenched her fists and walked back towards the hallway leading to her chambers. Just when she was nearly there she heard his voice call again.

"Wait!"

She turned back towards him, "Will you provide me with servants?"

"I will give you only advice," he replied, "In these dark times all are called to serve. If you despise your current role search for another, your duties to your land and your people will not be forgiven merely because you find them unpleasant."

She huffed and left without replying to him. _No wine, no servants, and no help from him,_ she thought to herself. She returned to her chambers and thought over what she would do next. After about a half hour there was a knock at her door. She opened it a crack, her two guards had returned to their posts, standing across the hall, and in front of them was the smiling form of Jeyne Westerling.

"Lady Cersei some of the ladies and I are forming a sowing circle, would you like to join?" she asked smiling.

 _I'd rather shove a needle through my eye,_ "I would but…" She looked back into her room a moment, spying one of the books on elvish history she'd been reading, _A servant must have brought it from Osgiliath,_ "I simply must finish reading this historical text, it's rather fascinating and I was hoping to discuss it with Lord Denethor later."

"Oh," Jeyne said, her enthusiasm dampened, "Another time I suppose," the smile returned, "I had no idea you were such a scholar Lady Cersei!"

"Well I am, and I really must be getting back to it," She closed the door, cutting the conversation short. With a huff she walked back to her bed, idly she picked up the book and flipped through some of the pages. This particular volume was in some elvish script, and she'd only taken it because of a number of high quality illustrations contained within.

She found herself lingering on one picture in particular, she shifted, sitting upright on the bed and opening the book fully. Etched in black was a great figure with a three pronged crown and a terrible spiked mace in hand, somehow it reminded her of the black robed figure from Osgiliath, the Witch King… she shuddered. Opposite him was an armored elven figure, rage was in his face and he held a radiant sword high.

 _The elves, they have the power to stand against such creatures,_ she thought.

Her thoughts were interrupted by another knock on the door, with a sigh she got up, "Lady Westerling," she called, "I told you I have no interest in-" the door opened and her uncle Kevan walked in.

"Cersei," he nodded. He walked to her pile of books and began collecting them.

"What are you doing? I was reading those!" she exclaimed.

"Your father has requested all texts on elves brought to him immediately," Kevan replied, "After some consultation with the citadel librarian I learned that you have most of them."

"Then take him the ones I'm not using," she spat back.

Kevan chuckled, "You left little but a cookbook on Elvish cuisine, I can't bring him that." He paused a moment, "He has also requested that I bring you to him… but in light of things I could tell him you were not here if you would prefer."

She was quiet a moment, "Does he wish to speak of my son again?"

Kevan's expression turned dark, "No… nor do I. Don't mention him again or I cannot promise things will remain civil."

She sighed, "Let us go to him then." She picked up the books on her end table and the pair of them walked to the Houses of Healing. As they entered she saw the wounded men in beds lining the walls, there were many Gondorians and Wetermen recovering from their injuries in the recent battle. As they approached the rear of the building they passed through a door into a suite where her father was propped up in bed with a small wooden platform arranged in front of him in mimicry of a desk.

"Here are the books you wanted," Kevan said, placing the pile on the nightstand. Cersei placed her own atop them and waited for her father's acknowledgement, but he didn't meet her eyes.

"Good," Tywin replied. He reached over and grabbed the top book, opening it and glancing at a few pages.

"You requested my presence father?" She asked finally, tired of being ignored.

He looked up as if just noticing her, "Yes… As I recall you have been reading about these elves and I had a few questions I thought you could perhaps answer for me."

"And what might those be?" She asked. She saw a pitcher of wine on a desk, realizing she hadn't had a drink all day she moved towards it.

"First of all," he said firmly, stopping her in her tracks, "What elven realms remain?"

She thought a moment, "There is Mirkwood, the Woodland realm of course… Lothlorien, the golden wood is the closest to us, and then there are the Grey Havens of Cirdan the Shipwright."

"What of this "Rivendell?" he asked.

"Rivendell is too small to be called a kingdom," She replied, "Though its lord, Elrond Half Elven, is said to be wise beyond measure. Why these questions father?"

"Having seen our enemy," he paused a moment and sighed, "I believe that defeating Sauron is beyond even our own considerable strength of arms. I have begun reading on his history and the lore of this world in an attempt to find some other means to win this war." He looked back down at the book in his hands, "Elves seem crucial to past efforts to drive him back."

"Most of their realms have declined in size and splendor," she said, "An elven host like the one in the Last Alliance can no longer be raised."

"Then we will make do with whatever elves can be found," he replied. He snapped the book shut and placed it back on the pile, "To that end I am sending you and Kevan to find them and bring them into this war."

His words took a moment to register, "Father you cannot be serious!" She exclaimed, "The elven realms are far and they will not march to war for wealth or land!"

"Then you will need to find something they _will_ march to war for and convince them we can provide it," he said dismissively. He regarded her a moment, "Kevan told me of your performance during the battle. He said that without you to rally them the men might have fled rather than returning to hold the bridge."

"It's true," Kevan said.

"Since you have shown a certain aptitude and in light of… other failures of yours, I do not believe it is unfair to ask that you complete this task." Tywin continued.

"This would not be an easy journey like the road to the Tooth," she said, "There are not paved and maintained roads leading to Lothlorien, and that is the closest of the elven kingdoms..."

Her father almost smiled, "Oh I am quite aware, there will be no padded wheelhouses, no riding sidesaddle, and no wine."

"Father, I am a lady of the Rock!" she protested.

"In light of recent events I believe that perhaps you have not endured enough hardship," Tywin said, ignoring her outburst, "I believe that perhaps suffering some would be good for you."

"You think I have not suffered?" she sneered, "I was married to that pig of a man for fourteen years! I lost my mother when I was just a girl!"

"Enough!" her father snapped.

"You would send your own daughter into danger simply to prove some asinine point?" she retorted angrily.

"Danger?" Kevan scoffed, "If we are going to Lothlorien we will only pass through Rohan, Tyrion has assured us safe passage."

"Tyrion?" she questioned, "What does he have to do with this?"

"I had been in contact with a court official in Rohan named Grima, son of Galmod," Tywin said, "I had hoped to negotiate your brother's capture and return but before terms could be settled Grima was overthrown and killed."

"I suppose it was coming anyway," Kevan muttered, sharing a knowing glance with Tywin.

Tywin continued, "It seems Tyrion was involved somehow and has risen quite high in the new order under princess Eowyn. He was willing to grant your party a safe journey through Rohan in exchange for a full pardon for his crimes."

"Tyrion cannot be trusted!" she said angrily, "He already tried to kill Jaime, he will ambush us and kill us on the road."

Tywin sighed, "Your brother has always displayed a certain low cunning… we have no choice but to make use of it now. He is now beyond Sauron's dominion and even now counsels the Rohirrim to war against our enemies. He is serving the family and now you will as well by going to the kingdom of Lothlorien to find us allies among the elves."

"And if I refuse?" she asked quietly.

Her father's expression grew dark, "Cersei this is not a request. Your failures as a mother to my grandchildren have irreparably damaged this family, the Westerlands, and this war effort." He paused, looking her straight in the eyes, "If you do not come back with elven warriors then it would be better for you not to come back at all. Go."

She glared angrily at him, but obeyed, walking out of the room with Kevan following shortly behind her, "Did you know he was going to do that?" she asked him as soon as they were out of earshot, "that he would send us on this mad quest?"

"I thought he would wait a day or two," Kevan replied as they walked, "But it was my suggestion that you accompany me."

" _What?"_ she exclaimed, "Uncle in the name of the gods _why?"  
_  
"I truly believe that your knowledge of these people will be useful in this endeavor," he replied, "And also because of love for my brother… and for you."

"You have a strange way of showing it," she sneered.

"I share Tywin's belief that this journey will be good for you," he said.

"When do we leave?" she asked angrily.

He smiled, "Not until after we've visited a tailor. That," he pointed to her dress, "you cannot wear on this journey. We will have some breeches and boots made for you."

 _Breeches?_ She thought with horror, "Surely there is some other option?"

"I'm afraid not," he said, "Come, Lord Denethor has personally recommended several merchants for this purpose."

She followed behind him, cursing her father's name every step of the way.

 **A/N: In the absence of other business I guess I'll go to reviews  
**

 **Cyricist001 - People are a lot more religious since The Arrival so the Faith is more influential. Generally though the only lords that have betrayed Tywin are the Farmans and they were always pretty rebellious anyway. The Reyne and Tarbeck peasantry have probably been waiting for years for this opportunity. Overall though the majority of lords, and people frankly, are still loyal to the Old Lion even in the midst of all this chaos.**

 **Lukas0908 - I never played LOTRO but like I said I have consulted some of it's supplemental material, Middle Earth as it is in the movies and even in the books seems a bit empty to be supporting the armies that are marching around and as for the Dunedain I'd always figured there's no way they could ALL be rangers...**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Eomer's a real godsend to the Westerlands at this point, yes the peasants could be easily scattered but if they hold long enough for Joffrey's goblins to arrive then that's a whole other issue.**


	61. LX The Crow's Eye

**LX**

 **The Crow's Eye**

Euron was walking through the streets of Umbar with a group of men he'd taken to calling his "Iron Captains," the men who led the longships into battles and on raids. The plunder brought in from the Gondorian coast and even from some of the closer Westerlands settlements had caused a boom in the city, the market, already busy, was now so full of merchants and their customers that it was at times difficult to move at all. Still, when people saw his party approaching they parted before them. The journey today was to pick provisions for an upcoming voyage, though fish were filling he'd always thought that it did a man good to have some fruit while at sea.

He stopped at one particular stall, a crate full of melons on a table with some other fruit, "How about some of these Fisherman?" He called, causing the captains to laugh and the short man he'd addressed to blush.

"Abaan," he muttered back, "My name is Abaan." The Fisherman's choice in plunder had become something of a recurring joke among the Iron Captains, often coming up when they drank together.

"I don't understand why we need to do this ourselves," Herumor commented, "Isn't this a duty better suited for Salez?"

"The Steward doesn't know my tastes," Euron replied as he picked up a reddish cactus fruit. After turning it over and examining it he bit into the waxy skin, allowing the juice to run down his chin. "These," he said pointing to the box.

"Captain those are rather expensive," the Fisherman cut in, "perhaps-"

"Expensive he says!" Euron laughed, and the rest joined him again.

"You can tell this one hasn't been a raider long!" Herumor said, slapping the man on the back.

They moved to another stall, this one manned by a Haradrim in a dark robe. He uttered something in their guttural language and pushed forward a large bowl filled with what appeared to be dry cactuses of a deep green, almost blue, shade. Raising an eyebrow he picked up one of the coin sized cacti and popped it into his mouth. As he chewed it the bitter flavor coated his tongue, he swallowed. He was about to comment on the poor flavor but he felt a familiar sensation coming over him.

He turned to see all of his captains staring at him hesitantly, "I'm guessing these aren't eaten for the flavor?" he said with a smile.

"Na'man is used in certain rites among the Haradrim," Herumor said slowly, "It's supposed to allow one to see the unseen… Captain Greyjoy I wouldn't recommend it to anyone who hasn't-"

He laughed, cutting the man off, "I think I know what it does," he replied, the colors of the market were beginning to shine brighter and some of the straight edges of the buildings were beginning to vibrate slightly. He grabbed another, chewing on it idly while he thought.

"Herumor, how do the Haradrim use Na'man?" he asked.

Herumor looked around suddenly, as if embarrassed, "I wouldn't know, I've certainly never used-"

"It is eaten dried as you've done or the smoke can be inhaled," The Fisherman said, looking at the other Captain with some amusement.

"Of course a fisherman from the north of the city would know that," Herumor sneered, seeing the look, "Most of you up there are closer to Haradrim than Umbari."

The Fisherman shrugged, "Maybe, but they certainly have plenty of Umbari customers for their wares…"

"We need as many of these as we can get," Euron said, cutting the argument short, "Tell Salez to seize all Na'man coming into the city and have it stored down near the docks."

"That sounds like quite the party Captain," the Fisherman commented, "but I don't know that the Steward will agree to it."

He smiled, the cactus was beginning to take full effect now and the blue sky was flashing several different colors, "He will, if he questions it have him see me." He grabbed a handful of the cacti from the bowl and slapped a pair of gold coins on the merchant's table before walking back towards his palace. He paused a moment, "Don't forget to take the fruit."

He retired back to his palace, the Na'man was stronger than some of the things he'd tried over the years, but compared to Shade of the Evening it was like a light wine. He made it back without incident. In his room there was a woman from the previous evening waiting for him, a dark skinned beauty from the jungles of Far Harad. He dismissed her with a wave and began walking along the walls of his bedroom. After perhaps a half hour of searching he found what he was looking for, a small mousehole behind one of his dressers.

"Too bad the Umbari don't care for cheese," he muttered. He looked around his room and saw a loaf of bread the servants had left. He grabbed a piece and crumbled it in his hands, scattering the crumbs before the hole. Chuckling to himself he climbed on top of the dresser and sat atop it in a squatting position. After some time, he wasn't sure how long, he saw a furry head poke out of the hole. He held his breath as the mouse tentatively stuck it's head out of the hole. Teetering forward he leapt downwards, his hand outstretched.

"HA!" he shouted triumphantly as his fingers curled around the rodent. He lifted it up, examining it. The mouse turned to bite him but he quickly leveraged his thumb underneath its chin, forcing its mouth closed. "Oh I don't think so," he said smiling. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. "Enter," he called.

He turned to see Salez and Herumor entering the room. Herumor had changed from the simple clothes he'd worn earlier to a more ornate red robe with an orange sash, and a gold pendant hung about his neck.

He frowned, "Herumor, didn't I explain the Iron Price to you?"

The other captain seemed uncomfortable, "I purchased these robes with the proceeds of my pillaging…"

He sighed, "I suppose that's acceptable." _And they called themselves "corsairs",_ he thought derisively.

"Herumor said that you wanted all the Na'man requisitioned, I'd like an answer as to why" Salez said. The steward suddenly noticed the mouse in his hand and raised an eyebrow, "Captain Greyjoy… what are you doing?"

He laughed, "Let me answer both questions." He beckoned them over to his desk. It was covered in various letters and memoranda that had been sent to him, though a few had notes written in the margins most were covered in doodles. Sitting on one pile of papers was a wooden cage, inside was a hairy spider perhaps half the size of a man's fist.

Salez grimaced, "Why would you buy a rat spider?"

Euron shrugged, "Why does a man do anything?" he opened the top of the cage and dropped the mouse inside, it squeaked loudly and turned to face the spider. The three men stared at the cage for a moment, but neither the mouse nor the spider moved.

"They typically ambush their prey," Salez said, "That spider will not attack the mouse while it is watching."

"Exactly!" Euron beamed, "Much like the spider a reaver must ambush his prey… but what do we do against prey that is alert?" The mouse was staring intently at the spider now, the two circled each other in the small cage but still made no moves.

"I suppose we simply move on to an easier target," Salez said, unimpressed, "What is your point?"

He pulled the dried cacti from his pocket and put them on the table atop one of the papers. He looked around and saw a piece of flint the servants used to light the torches in the evening. Grabbing it he started striking it, causing a number of sparks to fly toward the cacti.

"Be careful! Those papers are important!" Salez said in a panic. Euron chuckled at that and he saw Herumor was hiding a smile as well. Salez sighed angrily as one of the sparks lit on the paper, the small flame engulfing the dried cacti. The steward grimaced but kept quiet.

Euron picked up one of the unburnt papers and fanned the smoke rising from the Na'man towards the cage. Herumor and Salez moved closer to watch as the fumes began to engulf the mouse. It squeaked loudly, first twitching wildly, and then flipping onto it's backside, it's mouth frothing. Seeing the opening the spider pounced, fangs singing into the mouse's neck. The rodent made a loud shrieking noise as it died.

"Between the Lannister and the Gondorian fleets our ships are outnumbered," Euron said, "But there are ways around that…"

Salez's eyes went wide, "You mean to use the Na'man against them?"

He grinned, "There are a number of ways… it could be snuck into their food or water I suppose, but I think the easiest method would be using the smoke. I can promise you the winds will be favorable."

The steward stroked his chin, "That would be a risky move, even the slightest mistake could result in the loss of the fleet."

Euron leaned over the smoldering cacti and inhaled deeply, "We can either lose the fleet piecemeal in small engagements throughout the bay of Belfalas or we can force a single large battle, emerging as either conquerors or the conquered." He breathed outward, the smoke curling around his nostrils, giving him a sinister appearance. "I believe the Dark Lord will soon summon us to war in any case, the ring has been found."

Salez gasped and Herumor's eyes went wide, "Truly?" The steward asked, "How do you know this?"

He shrugged, "I have communed with the great eye often of late, as well as those who serve his will alongside us."

"Where is it now?" Herumor asked curiously, "Surely as his mightiest and most servants the men of Umbar should be involved in this hunt?"

"It is far from here, far from the great seas and rivers," he replied dismissively, "beyond even our long reach." He smiled, "If it were close you can rest assured that I would personally be leading the search."

"The one who returned it would be greatly rewarded," Salez commented, "Gold, lands, and women would be the least of the treasures given to such a savior."

"Rewarded?" Euron chuckled, "If I had the opportunity I would take rather than be "rewarded," even by one such as the Lord of Mordor."

There was silence for a moment and then Herumor spoke, "What exactly are you saying Captain Greyjoy?"

"I'm saying someone with the right skill, the right ambition, could master the ring and become a dark lord in their own right, is that so complicated?" Euron replied with a smile.

"That is treason!" Salez said suddenly, "speak no more of this!"

"Simple conjecture my dear steward," he said with a wide grin, "obviously I am a loyal servant of our lord."

Salez studied him a moment, "See that your mind does not turn to "conjecture" again. I will make arrangements for Na'man to be gathered by the docks. I bid you gentlemen good day." He walked out of the room without another word.

"I would stay on good terms with him," Herumor said after Salez had left, "You are a mighty captain Euron Greyjoy, and you know a great many dark secrets I suspect, but in our long history there are Captains that have been overthrown after provoking a steward's ire. I would not see that happen to you."

"He will do nothing so long as goods continue to flow into Umbar from our raids," He replied, waving his hand. "And you? What do you think of what I have said?"

Herumor shifted uncomfortably, "Isildur was a great king of old, when the blood of Numenor was still strong in Gondor… he was betrayed by the ring and defeated by the dark lord's cunning."

"Mastery is not the same as mere possession, this is doubly true when it comes to items of great power like our master's rings." He walked to the window and, with his back to Herumor, he pulled his eyepatch up, allowing his blackened eye to breathe and take in the city of Umbar. "It matters little anyway, as I said the ring is beyond our reach."

"Do not worry Captain, the men of the West will fall with or without the ring," Herumor said behind him.

"I'm sure," He replied. With a sigh he pulled his eyepatch back over his crow's eye and turned around. "I would still like to perform at least one more raid before we prepare for our final confrontation with the enemy fleets, have the Iron Captains meet me on the docks tomorrow."

Herumor nodded, "It will be done Captain."

After he left Euron went back to his desk, he noticed his spider had begun to devour the dead mouse. He opened the cage and grabbed the spider by the abdomen before it could circle around to bite him. Pulling his arm back he threw it out his window as hard as he could. A moment later he heard a woman scream somewhere below and he chuckled to himself before turning back to the now blackened husks of the cacti. Brushing the ashes onto the floor he saw that they had been sitting atop a map of Middle Earth. Looking at it he scowled.

"If only Isildur had dropped it somewhere near a shoreline…" he muttered to himself.

 **A/N: A few Reviews...**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Well Joffrey's gotten farther in this story than I'd bet most people thought he would, but yeah he's now in the crosshairs of Tywin, Jaime, and Eomer... that luck is likely nearing it's end. As for Cersei and Kevan don't worry we'll see how their journey plays out, but we've got a lot of other plot threads to catch up on.**

 **Wal Otter - It's one thing to want to practice swords when you're a girl, it's another to be told in your late 30's that you're being sent into the wilderness with no luxuries on what is probably a doomed mission.**

 **89 - Cersei, much like other characters, is on a journey as much spiritual as it is physical. Whether she will learn the things she needs to learn remains to be seen.**


	62. LXI The Imp

**LXI**

 **The Imp**

 _If nothing else Grima had good taste in drinks,_ Tyrion thought as he sipped the wine that the traitor had bought for his wedding. He was seated on the man's old throne, he'd had the advisor's chair dragged to his chambers where he'd set up a small office to review the former adviser's papers.

Eowyn had taken all of the fighting men and left that morning to do battle with the approaching orcs, he'd begged her to leave him Shagga and Crakehall, or at least Bronn, but she'd refused.

"You are a plotter and a planner Tyrion," She'd said, "But they are warriors, and we go now to battle. Edoras is safe now and I have greater need of them than you."

He'd begrudgingly accepted her reasoning, most of Grima's former followers now rode with her and scouts had confirmed the presence of a force of at least a thousand orcs on the road to Edoras. With nearly all able bodied warriors of Edoras preparing for battle they would match the enemy's numbers and take them by surprise. It would be a quick and brutal attack, she'd assured him she would return afterwards to begin planning the wider war.

Still, he was nervous. They had left early in the morning, leaving him alone in Medusheld with only a few servants and the king himself, who was still bedridden. He'd ordered the city gate barred and forbidden anyone from entering or leaving until Eowyn's return.

In the meantime he'd forced himself to take stock of their situation. They had a good amount of gold on hand, upon entering Grima's room they'd found a number of items, great and small, that had gone missing. Upon prying the room's floorboards they'd discovered a small chest of gold, likely the payment he'd promised his sellswords. In the way of food Edoras could perhaps have held out for a few weeks if it came to a siege, but it mattered little, the wooden palisades wouldn't have survived a determined assault.

The city itself was relatively calm considering the circumstances, it seemed that outside his small circle of supporters Grima was unpopular, tolerated only because of his relationship to the King. News of Eowyn take charge of the city was met with surprise, but approval all the same.

There were a few things that still concerned him though. In the aftermath of the wedding Hama had told him that someone had stolen a horse from the royal stables. The timing was odd, so valued were the king's horses that they had only gone for perhaps a quarter of an hour unguarded, and even then it would have been difficult for anyone to reach the stables unnoticed by any of the guards or servants. This was a skilled infiltrator and spy, no mere thief... He decided to think on it another time, it was likely some servant of the Wizard's anyway, simply leaving to tell his master of Grima's death.

He also decided to take advantage of the brief lull in activity to go to the Maester, a man named Hectar Hill, to send out some correspondence. He was surprised to discover a letter from his father, who was now in Minas Tirith following a battle with the armies of Mordor, waiting for him. The letter had been addressed to Grima, and consisted of a request for his own return to Casterly Rock as well as safe passage for a small party to pass North through Rohan. It was with no small amount of satisfaction that he wrote a letter back to his father informing him of the change in governance of Edoras, as well as his own demand in return for "safe passage."

 _I could arrange this Father, in exchange for a pardon for my alleged crimes and a promise that no men will be sent after me,_ He wrote with a smile. He thought a moment and continued, _Though you and I have our differences I believe it is in our best interests to cooperate for the time being against the host of Mordor and it's allies._ He tied the letter to a raven's leg and sent it off. He took the time to write another letter to his Aunt Genna back in Casterly Rock, it was likely too late to warn the Westerlands of Joffrey's approach, but he sent a letter explaining the situation in Rohan and his suspicions about the Wizard Saruman anyway. Even if Rohan fell the Wizard would learn well enough that a certain saying about Lannisters and debts applied doubly so for enemies.

As the sun grew low in the sky and there was still no sign of the riders his mood had darkened. He'd retired to his room to eat a small dinner, they were still working through the leftovers from Grima's feast, and a tall mug of mead.

A few moments later there was a panicked knock on the door, "Enter," he called from his table. A serving girl entered the room, flustered.

"Lord Tyrion," she said in a panic, "there's a disturbance down at the gate, you're needed at once!"

He raised an eyebrow, "My orders stand, none may enter and none may leave."

"These are not Rohirrim, they're demanding to see the lord of the city!"

He sighed and put his cup down. He followed the girl out of Medusheld and down the city streets, the sun was almost down now and a number of lit torches lined the streets, another preparation he'd ordered.

He began to feel uneasy when he saw the crowd down by the gate, though they were mostly women and old men there was a weapon in every hand, he saw that some small boys held stones, and though there were perhaps a hundred people waiting there he heard not even the slightest whisper. There was a sudden chill in the air, defying the late summer heat. Looking about he cleared his throat.

"I speak for Lady Eowyn, what seems to be the problem?"

One man, a member of the Doorguard who had taken a blow to the knee during the wedding, limped forward, "Follow me," he whispered. He lead Tyrion to a wooden tower which overlooked the gate, the two of them climbed the rickety wooden stairs to the top, when they reached it he peered out over the edge and his heart skipped a beat.

There, lit by the flickering torchlight of the city, were nine black cloaked figures atop dark horses. He felt a familiar fear come over him as memories of Minas Morgul flashed through his mind.

" _Where is Grima, Son of Galmod?"_ the closest figure asked in a rasping voice.

"Dead," Tyrion replied, feigning bravery "As you will be if you do not leave at once!"

" _So discourteous a host, is this how you treat an old friend Tyrion Lannister?"_ the Nazgul chuckled back.

He felt the color drain from his face, any hope that these were mere bandits or orcs had disappeared, "Leave this place," he managed to say, "There is nothing for you here."

" _A man such as you knows well the value of information,"_ The Witch King called, " _We seek a land called the Shire, tell me now, and tell me truthfully, where it can be found or I will take your worthless life and those of the mewling fools who would stand with you."_

 _The Shire?_ He thought, suddenly he remembered what Daven had said about Joffrey and the ring, _They're after the One!_

"I'll tell you no such thing!" He shouted back, he felt a mad boldness come over him, "If Sauron seeks tribute from Rohan you may take him all of the horseshit you can carry from our royal stables!"

Instead of responding the Nazgul simply drew his sword and held it high above his head. There was a creaking sound and then a loud snap from the gate. He looked down in horror to see that the great wooden beam that barred the gate had fallen away in two pieces, each end looking as though some giant had twisted it like a twig in a fit of rage.

 _"I will not ask again. Where is the Shire?"_

He looked back to the assembled people of Edoras, they were panicking now, gripping what weapons they had tightly. The young boys, so eagerly holding rocks a moment ago, had dropped them and fled. _I cannot ask them to die for this secret,_ he thought.

"Look there!" The guard next to him said suddenly. He looked out on the darkened horizon to see a line of torches approaching. "It's Lady Eowyn's host!"

This news emboldened the people, "Don't give 'em anything!" a woman called from below. "Throw them out!" an old man's voice echoed.

He smiled, _A brave people, but that will not be enough…_ "The Wizard," he said suddenly, "Saruman of Isengard knows the location of the treasure you seek, go to him and bother us no more!"

The Witch King seemed to stare at him a moment, but then there was a deafening shriek, he clasped his hands over his ears and saw that everyone below was doing the same. The black riders rode off into the night, the darkness quickly hiding their terrible forms as they raced away. Seeing them go he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Who were they?" The guard breathed.

"Agents of Mordor," he replied. He shuddered, the lingering fear dissipating, "I need a stiff drink…"

"I doubt there will be time for that," the guard commented, "We must prepare to receive the victorious warriors."

True to the man's word it did not take long for them to return. More people gathered and cheered as the first returning riders came through the city gates. Though they were certainly dirtier than when they'd left and a few cradled wounds by and large it seemed that casualties were light. He spotted Eowyn, personally holding a Rohirrim banner high to much cheering and applause. She pulled her helmet off, allowing her blonde hair to glow in the torchlight.

"There you are!" He turned to see Bronn atop a horse, pausing in the parade to speak with him.

"How did things go?" he asked the sellsword.

The other man smiled, "They never stood a chance. We pelted them with arrows until they broke their formation and then rode them down. They weren't expecting a fight, certainly not with a force equal to their own." Bronn dismounted and walked alongside him, leading his horse towards the palace.

When they arrived Eowyn was waiting for them, "We've routed the enemy," she said triumphantly, "Edoras is safe." She frowned, "Bronn, where are Shagga and Crakehall?"

"Ser Lyle has this idea that the last riders in will receive the most attention from the women," Bronn replied, rolling his eyes, "Ser Daven and Shagga have decided to trust him on it so the three of them are in the back together."

"A victory is all well and good," Tyrion said, cutting in, "but we must plan for the full war against Isengard, Edoras may be safe but Rohan is not… and there is something else you should know." As they walked into the hall he told them of the Nazgul's visit, and of how they'd disappeared into the night.

"Foul servants of Sauron," Eowyn spat, Tyrion got the sense that her bloodlust from the battle had not quite worn off, "I will gather a hundred men and we will ride them down!"

"I wouldn't," Tyrion said, "They are…" he sighed, "They are beyond our ability to deal with right now, and I doubt they are working with Saruman in any case, not directly at least."

"What brings them here?" Eowyn asked, "If they are not here to help Saruman what is their goal?"

"I believe they seek the One Ring…" he said quietly.

Her eyes went wide, "Do you believe it has been found in Rohan?" she asked with worry.

"No," he assured her, "They seek the Shire, it's somewhere to the North, Daven has been there."

Eowyn breathed outward, "This is… this is a matter for elves or Wizards."

"I think they are aware of the situation," Tyrion said, thinking back to Gandalf, _That's probably why he wanted to go to Rivendell, something to do with the ring…_ He sighed, "We have our own trials now without taking it upon ourselves to find the One Ring. We will keep our eyes and ears open, that is the most we can do right now."

"And what of our situation?" Eowyn asked, "what is your assessment?"

"Well it's not good," Daven Lannister called, the three of them turned to see the bearded knight enter, "but it's hardly the worst it could be."

"What's the matter? Didn't find a pretty girl?" Bronn asked with a grin.

Daven waved his hand dismissively, "There's important work to be done, I just wanted to make sure our two oafs didn't get themselves into any trouble."

"So that's a no on the girl then?" Tyrion chuckled. He paused a moment, "Did Crakehall and Shagga…?"

"They found a few stablemaids from some outlying estate who are "too scared" to go back to their homes tonight," Daven replied, rolling his eyes.

"And do our frightened young ladies understand what sort of men they're cavorting with?" Tyrion asked, suddenly nervous, the last thing they needed now was a scandal…

Now Daven laughed, "I think they know, I believe that Lyle and Shagga son of Dolf were as much prey as predators tonight."

He nodded, "Returning to the matter at hand, where will we meet the enemy next? What forces can be raised?"

"We will raise men from Aldburg and the Easternmet," Eowyn said, "The enemy will come in force against Grimslade in the Westfold next, Grimbold was hated by Grima. We will go to their defense."

"It won't be as easy as this fight was," Daven said grimly, "That was an army that expected to march right in and garrison this city, they'll be preparing for a real battle with Grimbold."

Tyrion sighed, "I fear before this war is over every hold in Rohan might see battle. Does Rohan have any allies? Any friends that could help shorten this conflict?"

"Gondor," Eowyn replied without hesitation, "They have been our friends since we first settled in these lands."

Tyrion frowned, "War already comes to Gondor, I fear they will be able to offer little more than token assistance. Any others?" He moved to a map of the West displayed upon the wall, "Surely there is some other kingdom that opposes Sauron…"

"What of your people?" she asked, "What of the men of Casterly Rock?"

"Once it's become apparent that little shit Joffrey is working with the Wizard you can rest assured Tywin won't rest until Isengard is in flames," Daven said with a smile, the grin faded, "But until Joffrey and that goblin host are dealt with they could not help even if they desired to." He walked towards the map and Eowyn followed him, "There's some good men around these parts," he pointed to Northern Enedwaith, "Dunedain they called themselves."

"Descendents of Arnor!" Eowyn said excitedly, "If they yet possess some strength perhaps they would answer a call for aid!"

"Aye, they seem like the type that would if they could, but can they? And for that matter how would we reach them with the fords of Isen in Saruman's hands?" Daven said, stroking his beard, "They don't have ravens in that part of the world…"

"Retaking the fords will be a priority in this war," Eowyn said suddenly, "If… When that occurs perhaps a messenger could ride out and find the Dunedain."

"That's still uncertain at best I'd say," Tyrion commented, "What of the elven kingdoms to the North? Lothlorien? The Woodland realm?"

"I've never met an elf," Eowyn said, "Nor has anyone in Edoras I think. Some of the men in the Wold trade with them, selling them horses, cattle, leather… but they are reclusive, they are not our friends."

He sighed, "What of the Dwarven realms? Is there any old friendship to be found there?"

"Helm Hammerhand was a friend of theirs," she replied, "even in the face of Fram's insult."

"Fram's insult?" Tyrion inquired with an eyebrow raised.

"Long ago the Eothed, ancestors of the Rohirrim, dwelt in the shadows of the Grey Mountains," she began, "In those days Durin's folk dwelt within them and there was friendship of a sort between our peoples."

"But this Fram did something to ruin it I'm guessing," Daven said, grabbing a cup of mead from a nearby table."

She nodded, "There was a dragon, Scatha the Worm he was called, who stole many things of great value from both dwarves and men." She smiled, "Fram, from whom the first royal line of Rohan is descended, slew the dragon in single combat, taking his treasure." The smile faded, "The dwarves demanded the things Scatha had taken from them… instead Fram sent the dragon's teeth, 'Jewels such as these you will not match in your treasuries, for they are hard to come by,' he told them…"

"And they didn't take it well?" Tyrion asked.

"No," She said, "They killed him for it."

"How long ago was this?" Daven asked as he took a drink, "It sounds like something from the Age of Heroes."

"Perhaps a thousand years," She said, "But dwarves age slower than men, how much slower I do not know, only that they do not easily forgive grievances. I've heard they still squabble with the elves over things that happened before men walked the earth."

"Well perhaps they can be convinced to send us something in the Hammerhand's memory," Tyrion said, going to grab his own cup, "That is unless you have Scatha the dragon's horde lying around somewhere."

She chuckled, her mood brightening, "I'm afraid not, only a few trinkets and heirlooms. A necklace my mother once wore, the horn of the mark…"

He frowned, thinking, "Anything of dwarven make?" he asked suddenly.

"There is Eorl's crown," she said slowly, "It is kept safe in a vault, the kings of the second line do not wear it out of respect for Eorl and his sons… The last to wear it was the Hammerhand."

"What if it were sent to them?" Tyrion said suddenly, "Surely that would stir some passions?"

"Even if it did they're too far away to help," Daven said dismissively, "We'll have victory over Isengard or defeat within the next six months I'd say."

"We do not march to war against Isengard alone," Tyrion said quietly, "Sauron will soon march against all free peoples."

There was quiet for a moment before Eowyn spoke again, "I will see if there are any within the city who have been to Erebor or Dale. Perhaps a message could reach them… but I will not freely send such a treasure to an uncertain fate for an uncertain reason."

Tyrion scratched the stump where his finger once was, "I can offer them information about at least one lost treasure of theirs at least…" realizing what he was doing he stopped, "Lady Eowyn… it's only a crown."

She sighed, "It's… It's more than that, surely a man such as you knows this?"

"If Rohan falls it will be lost regardless," he replied grimly.

"What if they do not come?" She asked, "What if I give this treasure away for nothing?"

"Then if we die at least someone will speak fondly of us," he said with a small grin. "Come, I'm tired, you're probably tired, let's retire and address this in the morning."

Daven nodded, "I can agree to that."

"As can I," Eowyn said quietly.

As they all went their separate ways Tyrion spared one last look back at the map, _all peoples of_ _Middle Earth will need to stand together,_ he thought, _or they will fall together…_

 **A/N: reviews**

 **ATP - sorry no Brienne in this fic, but yeah she'd do great in the Fellowship.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - no battle this chapter sorry, don't worry though the action is going to pick up again pretty soon.**


	63. LXII Saruman of Many Colors

**LXII**

 **Saruman of Many Colors**

He watched as the ring cooled in the mold, the smoke funneling out of the great vent in the ceiling. As it faded from hot orange to a simple gold he pulled it free and examined it, he'd elected to add a simple orange gem to the plain band, this was not his first ring, nor would it be his last… He placed it on his finger and braced himself. He felt… something, but not as strong as he'd hoped. Leaving it on he turned to leave his workshop.

Maester Qyburn was waiting for him in the library, "They're still out there," he said nervously, "They will not leave unless they are told of the Shire."

Saruman sighed, "I will speak with the Nine soon enough…"

The Maester suddenly noticed the ring on his finger, his eyes went wide, "Is that-"

"Yes," he replied, "Though far from even the least of the works of "Annotar," a mere essay in the craft I'm afraid."

"So you cannot force them to leave?" the maester asked quietly.

He sighed, "Some time ago the White Council forced Sauron from Dol Goldur in Mirkwood. I participated in that attack, several of the Úlairi were present… I can face several of their number, even the lord of Minas Morgul himself, but to stand against all of the Nine is folly."

"Rouse our soldiers then!" Qyburn exclaimed, "Let the Uruk-Hai drive them away!"

Saruman chuckled, "You still have much to learn of Middle Earth my friend, few enough men can stand before them, let alone creatures such as orcs."

Qyburn was quiet for a moment, "Is there nothing we can do?"

"Deception will suffice I think." He gripped his staff tightly, "They are hunting for the One, they will not take the time to question us."

"But if they find it before us-"

"They will _not,_ " he said firmly.

The two of them walked towards the stairs together. The Nazgul would be waiting at the gate of the stone ring, as they had been for several hours now.

"Master Saruman," Qyburn said suddenly, "That powder you prepared, you said it would allow fire to tear stone asunder?"

He smiled, "Yes, even the great walls of Helm's Deep will not stand against it."

"An explosive then…" the maester muttered, "like wildfire."

"Yes, it is an explosive," Saruman said slowly, "but it is unwieldly to use for most purposes aside from bringing down walls. If you think to use it against the Nine-"

"Where is it now?" Qyburn asked eagerly.

"It is in a pair of wagons, by the northernmost pit," Saruman replied slowly, "What are you planning?"

"They could be lead there, why lead them astray when we can remove them from the search entirely?"

"No," Saruman said as they reached the bottom of the tower, "If we failed-"

"Forgive me Master, but… we have created wonders together, I have seen things I thought I would never see, done things I thought were impossible!" Qyburn smiled, "Let them be undone by our works, let the world tremble before the power of what the mind can accomplish unhindered!"

Saruman felt something stirring within him… _Who are they to deny me what should mine?_ He returned the man's smile, "It would be risky, death the least of the punishments the Nine could inflict upon us should we fail…"

Determination flashed across the old man's face, "Nothing worth having comes without some manner of risk or pain. I've seen many things taken from me because I desired knowledge, my work, my position, my chain..."

"Then rest assured no more will be taken," Saruman said firmly, "You are right Maester Qyburn, we have grown beyond the need for such oversight from Mordor. I will make them leave, by guile or by force. The flash powder… order the Uruks to unload it and arrange it near the Northernmost pit in the manner you believe best."

He opened the door to the tower and they stepped outside into the midday sun. Smoke rose around them from the great pits where Uruks were bred and ore was mined. Qyburn quickly hurried off on a path that lead to the pit where the flash powder was being stored, its volatility meant it had to be kept away from other operations.

"Time to go speak to my guests," he sneered. He walked down the long white paved road from the tower to the gates of the stone ring. Closer to the tower the original stones still lay embedded in the earth, as he walked closer to the outside the frequent use by orcs became more apparent, chipped and missing pieces more common, until he reached the great gate of Isengard and he might as well have been using a dirt path, the mud staining some of the lower parts of his robe.

He stood there for a moment, looking at the gate in front of him, and then around at the smoking pits and burnt trees of Isengard, _It had to come to this,_ he assured himself, _it had to be this way_.

"My lord?" an orc called from above.

"Open the gate," he replied. He watched as the twin doors slowly pulled open. There, garbed in black robes, were the Nine, their black robes contrasting sharply with the rolling green hills of Rohan to the South. Wind whipped at their robes, giving them an uncertain appearance as they dismounted and slowly walked inside the ring towards him.

" _Saruman,"_ rasped the Lord of the Nazgul, _"It has been too long."_

"Nearly 80 years since our master was forced from Dol Goldur," he said, nodding slowly. "Tell me, what business has the lord of the Nazgul with Isengard? Are my efforts insufficient to meet Sauron's needs?"

" _The death of your servant Grima would seem evidence enough of how successful your "efforts" have been."_

He tried to hide his shock, _Grima is dead? How? Do the Rohirrim now marshal their armies?_ "A temporary setback, and one soon corrected," he said calmly. "I repeat my inquiry, why are you here Er Murazor?"

" _We seek information on the Shire, our master seeks one who dwells there, Baggins."_

"The Shire?" He asked, feigning surprise, "I'm afraid I know little, save that it may perhaps be somewhere to the West."

" _We know that the boy Joffrey Baratheon sought the Shire, and we know that he encountered you…"_ rasped the Witch King, " _It would be most unfortunate if you were trying to deceive me…"_ The Nazgul walked towards him until there was perhaps a foot of distance between their faces. A cloud moved in front of the sun suddenly, bathing the valley in shadow.

 _I have made a mistake,_ he thought to himself in a panic, _it was madness to stand before them,_ He put as much of his power into his voice as he could in that moment, "I do not seek to do anything-"

" _You no longer serve our master's interests… You seek the prize for yourself."_ The Witch King drew his sword and the other Nazgul did in unison behind him. A pair of glowing red eyes appeared beneath the hood, he saw them look down to the ring still sitting on his finger, " _You have become a rival!"_

Before they could move he lifted his staff and slammed it into the ground, a shockwave of energy rippled out from him knocking the Witch King backward and forcing the other robed figures to the ground.

He laughed madly, "Indeed! For I am Saruman the Wise, Saruman Ring-maker, Saruman of Many Colors!"

The Witch King recovered first, lunging at him with a terrible screech that caused all nearby orcs to flee covering their ears. He brought his staff around, holding it in front of himself to block the attack. The top of his staff began to glow white hot and he quickly spun, bringing it around into the side of the Witch King's head. The Nazgul screamed again, in pain this time. Behind their master the rest of the Nine were now moving towards him, seeming to glide quickly over the ruined stone pathway.

He turned to flee, running off into the muddied grass. He quickly came to a catwalk crossing over one of the pits, he looked up to see a tower erected overlooking it. Muttering a few words under his breath he clenched his fist and jerked it towards himself. There was a sudden gust of wind shaking the tower, the orcs atop it screamed as it came crashing down in the path of the Nazgul.

As he reached the other side of the pit he realized that the Nazgul had split, three of them had gone around the edge and now were close to cutting him off. He yelled, holding his staff in front of him as a blue bolt flew forward, causing the nearest of the robed figures to scream as it connected, throwing it back into its fellows.

The orcs were in a panic now, fleeing before his duel with the Nazgul, grunting and screaming as they threw their tools down.

" _MOVE!"_ he shouted, and they seemed to part in front of him, allowing him to reach a barrel full of completed blades meant for his Uruks. He pulled one out, weighing the steel in his hands. He didn't have long, a Nazgul rushed at him, blade high. He blocked the strike and brought his sword down in a wide swing into the creatures side. The blade shattered on impact, stinging his hand. With a gasp he grabbed another as he blocked the retaliatory attack with his staff.

He saw another coming from his side in the corner of his vision and turned to face it, his staff in front of him.

 _"I grow tired of this,"_ he spun again to see the Witch King approaching him.

"Tired? We've only just begun!" The wizard yelled, he opened his arms wide and a bolt of lightning came down from the clear blue sky. The Witch King raised his hands high and a shimmering dome seemed to appear from nowhere, blocking the bolt from striking the earth. Thunder roared as the electricity faded, he took the opportunity to continue his flight, dropping the useless sword.

He reached the northernmost pits and saw that the iron spheres containing the flash powder were arranged in a crude circle, there was a small trail of the powder leading to each of them. _They'll all go off together,_ he thought, _good…_ He moved further to the edge of the pit and suddenly a horrifying realization struck him, _There is no way to clear the blast area in time!_

" _There is nowhere left to run Wizard. Face your fate."_ He turned to see the Nazgul, swords drawn and anger emanating from them as they stood in the center of the assembled mines, " _I will not make this quick."_

"Master Saruman!" a faint voice called from somewhere below.

His eyes went wide, _Qyburn?_ He thought wildly, he looked down into the pit, perhaps one hundred feet below the Maester stood next to a pile of filthy rags and straw. Several orcs were throwing more onto it even as he watched.

He smiled as the realization hit him, and he turned to face his pursuers, "I believe I _am_ ready…" he said in a low voice.

" _There is only one Lord of the Rings,"_ The Witch King replied, _"And he does not share power."_

Something about the statement amused him and he laughed as the Witch King leveled a blade with his chest. Saruman leapt backward, his robes billowing before him. He pushed his staff forward, a single ball of fire, perhaps the size of a man's fist, flew past the Nazgul, striking the nearest of the powder. There was a flash of white light and a deafening boom before all sound faded and flame consumed the world.

He found he couldn't hear anything as he fell into the pit, _I did it,_ he thought numbly. A smile crept over his face. Though it couldn't have been more than a few seconds the fall felt like it lasted hours. There was a sudden impact on his back and he realized he was no longer falling, the silence was replaced by a ringing and a splitting headache.

He tried to sit up but Qyburn ran up to him yelling something, he frowned, _"I can't hear!"_ he yelled. An orc suddenly handed the Maester a bucket of water, looking down he realized the tip of his beard had embers nestled in it, and perhaps a small flame starting. Qyburn threw the water on him quickly dousing them. He sat there a moment in shock before the maester extended a hand and helped him up. He found his hearing slowly returning.

"Well?" Qyburn asked eagerly, looking upwards. As he said it a number of black strips of cloth floated downwards, some with small flames lighting them as they dropped into the pit.

Saruman grabbed one of the pieces of the Nazgul's robe and crumpled it in his hand, smiling, "They are not truly dead of course… but their hunt for the ring is over for now."

They boarded the elevator to the surface and waited in silence together as the orcs below turned the wheels bringing them upwards. As they exited they saw a deep crater where the Nazgul had stood, black marks were all around it and several patches of grass were on fire. The two of them turned to look at each other.

After a moment Qyburn spoke, "Master Saruman… you may want to clean yourself up."

Raising an eyebrow he looked down to his robes, they were stained with mud and black powder stains. His beard had blackened tips and his hair was blasted backwards. Instead of rebuking the maester he found himself laughing, after a moment Qyburn joined him and together they reached a point of almost mad cackling. After some time he calmed himself, breathing deeply.

"Their spirits will return to the east and they will again take physical form, they will tell their master what transpired here. There is no turning back now, we must overcome the forces of both Mordor and the West… we need the One."

"We will have an army," Qyburn said with determination, "An army so grand as to make the hells themselves tremble!"

Saruman nodded with a smile, "All will bow before the might of Isengard."

 **A/N: reviews**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Rohan's army is in several places, they scattered after Theodred's death to return to their holds in the absence of a central command that wasn't Grima. Grimbold has most of his men still with him, and Arnsburg will have plenty to call upon too. Eowyn's next move will be marshaling the army again.**

 **89 - Tyrion's chapters are pretty fun to write too.**

 **L'etranger0 - Let's go over those questions**

 **1\. The video game characters might get mentioned but I haven't played them so they probably won't get POVs or major scenes**

 **2\. There will be some romance as we move into the "Two Towers" portion of the story, I don't want to spoil things too much beyond saying that.**

 **3\. I haven't thought about it much since I'll probably be working on this one for awhile. I don't think I can write multiple stories at the same time very well. As for Witcher I haven't played it but I've heard it's good.**


	64. LXIII Gandalf the Grey

**LXIII**  
 **Gandalf the Grey**

After the party passed through the Barrow Downs they'd crossed South of Bree without much trouble. Aragorn had decided to journey into the town to determine the foe's strength. He'd left the night before, and Gandalf didn't expect it to take the Ranger long to scout the city. In the meantime he'd questioned the knight, Sandor Clegane.

"So King Joffrey, spurred by the will of Sauron, sought the ring in the Shire?" Gandalf asked as they walked together through the countryside.

"He did," Clegane responded, "And Saruman the Wizard gave us aid as we traveled, even promised us shelter on the return journey."

"He would have taken it for himself," Gandalf muttered, "Saruman is no true servant of Sauron, only an opportunist."

"I don't see that it matters," Clegane said angrily, "When an army comes through a village it doesn't much matter what banner they're waving, and that's true in Westeros or Middle Earth."

"You know the more you two talk the more I'm wishing we'd taken care of Joffrey when we had the chance," Pippin commented from behind them.

"Indeed," Merry said, fishing through one of his horse's saddlebags before producing a carrot. With Frodo and Sam's ponies lost they'd all dismounted and continued on foot, using the horses to carry supplies. "I'm beginning to wish we'd helped Lotho beat him in that tavern, even that pimple was better than Joffrey."

"Don't speak ill of the dead Merry," Frodo said suddenly, "He wasn't our friend, but he never did us any true harm."

"He was still a little shit," Merry replied.

"I see that your presence in the Shire has added some… colorful metaphors to the local vocabulary Ser Clegane," Gandalf said dryly.

Clegane shrugged, "There's no lords in the Shire, so I figured there was no need to mind my language."

"Not true!" Said Pippin suddenly, "I'll have you know my father, Paladin Took, is the Thain of the Shire!"

Clegane raised an eyebrow, "Well Smallburrow told me the mayor of Michael Delving was in charge of the Shirriffs, seems to me he runs the place."

"The Mayor is just a glorified party host!" Pippin replied, "Why without the Thain who would call the Hobbitry-in-arms?"

Clegane laughed, "Hobbitry in arms? By the time I was done with him Smallburrow could've taken on half the Shire."

"My father could raise a force of archers!" Pippin protested.

"I'm certain the proper course of action and chain of command is being hotly debated by Shirriff Smallburrow and Thain Took," Gandalf cut in, "But for our purposes it matters little. A force of hobbits and rangers will march toward Bree perhaps one or two days behind me following either the Thain or the Shirriff."

"Will they be enough Gandalf?" Frodo asked, "Can they really throw Bill Ferny out?"

"When Strider returns we will know," the wizard replied.

The party continued the discussion as they passed through the lands south of Bree. It was pleasant country in the late summer, with rolling green hills and a few white clouds lazily drifting overhead. When nightfall came Sam started a fire and began cooking a stew for them using the remaining vegetables and a rabbit that had been flushed out by Clegane and quickly pelted with a fist sized stone by Merry. They sat around the fire together, each spooning out a bowl of soup for themselves in turn.

He found himself studying Sandor Clegane. The Westerosi was the only member of their party he didn't know. Aragorn trusted him, and by all accounts he'd been a fair guardian to the hobbits, but he was still curious about the man. Why had he remained in the Shire? How had he entered the King's service? Clegane seemed to notice his gaze.

"Something I can help you with Wizard?" He asked, putting his wooden spoon back in the bowl slowly.

"I was just thinking Ser Clegane, I've heard the tale of how you came to the Shire, but I'm not quite sure I understand why you decided to stay…"

Clegane looked at the others around the fire, seeing the hobbits were watching him curiously too he spoke, "You've traveled far afield haven't you wizard? Is there anywhere in the world like the Shire?"

Gandalf smiled, "No, no there isn't…"

"A year ago if you'd told me a place like it existed I wouldn't have believed you," Clegane continued, "I'd have written it off as another stupid story meant to give fools hope, like the tales of shining knights protecting the weak or good kings meting out fair judgment."

"Are things really so bad where you come from?" Frodo asked curiously, "You seem a fair knight yourself Ser Clegane…"

Clegane was silent a moment, an angry frown coming over his face, "Believe me Baggins," he growled, "They're worse than someone like you could ever dream." His hand went to a wineskin at his belt, one Gandalf knew was empty. After a moment he pulled his hand away from it angrily, "I'm no fair knight either, I had my own hand in making things in Westeros what they were, make no mistake about it."

"What do you mean by that?" Sam asked hesitantly.

Clegane looked at them angrily, "I'm not talking about this anymore," he said firmly.

Suddenly a familiar voice called out of the darkness, "Is there enough food for one more?"

Clegane jumped, "Gods man, don't sneak up me like that!" he exclaimed, but as Aragorn walked into the firelight he handed him a bowl anyway.

"Ferny's got maybe a hundred men," Aragorn said as he poured himself some of the stew, "He's got orcs somewhere doing his bidding as well, a few dozen at most."

"Good," Gandalf said nodding, "From the sound of things the hobbits will have no trouble dealing with that rabble." He thought a moment, "What of the enemy's force at Fornost? Will they journey south to assist Ferny in our absence?"

Aragorn shook his head, "From what I gather Ferny isn't working with Agandaur, and in any case I've sent a ranger of mine, Eradan, and a few of his companions to deal with him and whatever forces he's managed to gather. I believe that will be sufficient for now, few of the orcs of the Misty Mountains answered his call to arms."

"They have gone south, to war with Rohan and the Westerlands," Gandalf muttered, "At least there are fewer to do harm here in the North."

After a few days of travel he determined it would again be safe to use the roads, they were well West of Bree now and there were few inhabitants along the East-West road. After another day of travel they passed south of the Weather hills, he took the opportunity to point out the great stone tower that was still visible from the road.

"That is the tower of Weathertop," he said to Frodo, who walked beside him. "In days of old it was the boundary between the Dunedain kingdoms of Arthendain and Rhudaur."

"A fortress like that? On a border?" Clegane said, looking at it, "I'm guessing a lot of men died every time it changed hands."

"Indeed they did," Gandalf said sadly, "The men of Rhudaur fell under the influence of Angmar in those days… they fought against their brethren rather than standing against the Iron Crown. In time all three of Arnor's successor states fell before the Witch King's armies." Out of the corner of his eye noticed Aragorn was listening intently.

"Why would they fight amongst themselves when Angmar threatened them all?" Frodo asked.

"Men fight Baggins," Clegane said, scanning the horizon ahead, "It's just a matter of finding an excuse. Robert's Rebellion started as a fight over a girl, instead of settling it between themselves the two fools dragged the whole bloody realm into it."

"I've read a little of your history Clegane," Gandalf said with amusement, "And as I recall there was a bit more to it than that."

Clegane shrugged, "Well I was there for some of it, and I knew Robert Baratheon. If there was anything else the war was about he never mentioned it."

"What manner of man was King Robert?" Aragorn asked curiously. He shot Gandalf a knowing look, "I find the topic of kings interests me much of late."

Clegane raised an eyebrow, "Never took you for a historian, but if you must know he was a hell of a man in his youth, the kind of man who could talk you into charging a pike wall with him. He was unmatched on the field, I never saw him fight but they say it was like something out of a legend."

"And out of his youth?" Aragorn inquired.

"His crown didn't bring him any happiness," Clegane responded, "He spent most of his time avoiding his duties while drinking and whoring his way to an early grave. He died trying to kill a boar while drunk off his ass."

Aragorn's brow furrowed, "A sad thing it is, to hear of a king falling so far."

"Robert Baratheon's failure was letting his loss define him," Gandalf said firmly, sensing the ranger's train of thought, "In doing so he forsook his duties to others and was no lord worth serving. A crown alone doesn't make a king."

"No, it takes a whole lot of men with swords to do that," Clegane said bitterly, "Enough about dead kings, how much further is it to Rivendell?"

"It's just on the other side of the forest of the Trollshaws," he replied. "It will take us perhaps a week to reach them from here."

It took them eight days. On the afternoon when they finally arrived it rained furiously, causing the group to run for shelter beneath the first few trees of the thick beechwood forest. Though the treeline stopped some of the water from coming down on their heads they were still soaked and miserable. That night it had taken over an hour to start a fire, for no dry kindling could be found.

As they walked through the woods the mood lightened a bit. He knew there were few dangers in the forest in this late age, the trolls that gave the woods their name had all long moved on or been slain by the men of the north or the elves of Rivendell. The light of the sun filtering through the green and red leaves of the beeches had a calming effect. After days of travel they came upon a familiar clearing.

"Tell me Frodo," he said with a smile, gesturing towards a trio of large stone statues, "Do you recognize these?"

"The trolls!" Frodo exclaimed with a grin, "From Bilbo's stories!"

"I never thought I'd see them myself!" Sam said in awe as he walked up to brush the sides of one of them.

"Careful Sam, you might wake them up!" Merry said with a laugh. He tossed a small pebble at the head of the nearest stone figure.

"Someone want to tell me what the hell's going on?" Clegane asked, beckoning his horse into the clearing.

"These used to be trolls," Frodo explained, looking up at them, "They had captured my uncle Bilbo and the dwarves he was traveling with. Gandalf tricked them into staying here until daybreak and the sun turned them to stone!"

Clegane laughed, "Mate, I think your uncle was just telling you a tall tale."

"Oh it's true," Gandalf said, pulling a pipe from his pocket. He grabbed a pinch of dried pipe leaf and sprinkled it in, lighting it quickly with a small match he carried. "One of my better moments if I do say so myself." He took a puff and exhaled, thinking fondly on the memory.

Clegane stared at him a moment, "You're serious aren't you?" he said slowly. "What a world…" he muttered as he walked over to examine the trolls himself.

"What the hell's that?" Pippin asked suddenly. Gandalf turned to see what the hobbit was talking about and as his eyes landed upon it he froze.

Watching them from a treetop silently was what looked like an orc. It was a particularly small breed, with beady red eyes and short but cruel looking talons on each finger. It was wearing boiled leather and had a curved dagger at its waist. Realizing it had been seen it made a short shrieking sound and fluttered a pair of batlike wings. _Wings?!_ He thought suddenly

"Strider!" he called. With lightning speed Aragorn had his bow in hand and an arrow knocked. Just as the thing leapt from the tree, gliding a few feet, the arrow impacted it in the chest, sending it twirling to the ground. It impacted the ground with a low thumping sound, but it's arms skittered across the dirt, drawing the knife at it's belt. Before it could do anything more Clegane ran forward and brought his boot down on the thing's head. It stopped moving.

He doused his pipe and they slowly gathered around, "Gods, they fly too?" Clegane said with disgust as he wiped his bloodied boot in the dirt.

"I've never seen an orc with wings," Aragorn said as he bent low to examine it.

"Nor have I," Gandalf said. He drew his sword, "It is unlikely that it is the only one." Suddenly he saw a shadow flitter across the ground. "Hide!" he rasped, grabbing Frodo and pressing him into the hollow of a nearby tree. He stepped against it himself, his eyes peering upwards. The rest did the same, the hobbits hid beneath the legs of the stone trolls, Clegane and Aragorn pressed themselves against trees like he had.

 _The horses!_ He realized suddenly, but it was too late. He looked up with dismay to see dozens of batlike shapes descending.

"There they are!" A gravelly voice called from above. The first of the creatures landed on the nearest of the trolls, pointing an angry finger at Frodo. "The halflings!" it called, "get the halflings!" More of them descended and at once four of the creatures glided down at him as the rest of the orcs fell upon the party. He yelled and brought his sword down on one of them, the impact carrying less resistance than he'd expected, before bringing his staff around in a sweeping motion that knocked two more from the air. The final one was almost upon him, a dagger raised, when an arrow took it in the head.

He turned to see Aragorn, firing arrows upwards as fast as he could. The creatures were surprisingly agile but most of his arrows found purchase in the wings and chests of the flying goblins.

Clegane was angrily waving his sword upwards at a pair that were lingering just out of his reach, "Get down here and die you little bastards!" he yelled up at them, but instead the two spotted Sam, Merry, and Pippin beneath the trolls and dived towards them. The hobbits cried out in terror, but Sam produced the jeweled knife he'd taken from the Barrow Downs and jabbed it through the eye of the first one as it landed. Clegane reached the other and sliced it completely in half with one angry strike, blood and viscera flying through the air and staining the hobbit's clothing.

Suddenly one landed on the big man's back, a knife in hand. It brought it into the gap in Clegane's armor beneath the man's armpit, causing him to howl in pain. Reaching backward with his other hand he grabbed the orc by the neck and whipped it forward. There was a snapping noise and the creature went still.

Frodo cried out behind him and he turned to see three of them were grabbing him and attempting to drag him into the air with them. He ran towards them and they dropped him a few feet to the ground, the necklace carrying the Ring was suddenly visible outside of his shirt.

"This one's got it!" one of the orcs cried excitedly, "The one with the dark hair!"

 _No mere coincidence that they've come here then,_ he thought angrily. He ran forward, swinging his blade into the face of the speaking orc. It was too late though, the rest had taken note of his words and he worried he would be overwhelmed before the others could reach him. _They could carry Frodo and the Ring off!_ He realized with horror.

"Shadowfax! To me!" he yelled at the top of his voice. There was a neighing noise and the white horse ran forward, slamming into several of the creatures and striking at several with his hooves. He leapt onto the horse's back and grabbed the back of Frodo's shirt, hoisting him up and onto the beast. He spurred the horse forward. "Seek us in Rivendell!" he yelled at Aragorn before Shadowfax ran forward so quickly that the world was for the briefest moment nothing more than a blur.

As he'd expected the creatures quickly gave up the attack on their fellows and began pursuing them. Looking back he lost sight of them as they pulled above the treeline. Looking up he could see a few shapes matching their speed. Suddenly a black shape dived close with a scream. He gripped Frodo tightly as he jabbed at the flying orc with his staff, eliciting a cry of pain as it fell behind them. Suddenly there was another screech, he turned to see that Frodo had stabbed another that had come at him with his own blade.

That seemed to dissuade them and they rode on in peace for perhaps an hour, "Why won't they come from us?" Frodo asked anxiously, "They're still up there, I can see their shadows."

"They will wait until we break the treeline and try to take us then," Gandalf replied grimly, "We must cross the ford before they reach us."

Soon enough he saw a light ahead and steeled himself. The broke from the trees with a rushing noise and he dared to look up. A cloud of the creatures was above them, and with a triumphant cry they began diving down.

 _You will not have him,_ he thought angrily. The top of his staff began to glow white, but as he was about to raise it an arrow whizzed past his shoulder and into one of the goblins. His eyes went wide as more arrows flew overhead. He turned to see a pair of dark haired figures clad in silver grey cloaks standing by the ford several hundred yards from them.

"Who are they?" Frodo yelled.

"The sons of Elrond!" Gandalf said with a triumphant smile, "Elladan and Elrohir!" As they neared the arrows increased in frequency, the closing distance allowing the two elves to more accurately aim their attacks.

"Gandalf!" Called the nearest one, "To us!"

An angry roar went up from the orcs behind them, and as one there was one last desperate diving attack. Gandalf realized suddenly that this one was not aimed at them but rather just in front of them, and veered Shadowfax to the side as the orcs again angled up just before striking the ground, more and more of them dropping from arrow strikes until there was only one left, disappearing into the sky before either of the brothers had a chance to bring it down.

"Well met Gandalf," Elladan called with a smile, walking towards him. "Our father sent us to scout ahead and guide your party to Rivendell."

"A wise move on his part it would seem," Gandalf replied. "The rest of our party lingers behind. I'm afraid Shadowfax' speed has carried us far ahead of them in our flight."

Elrohir nodded, "Go and meet with our father, we'll find your fellows. Is Aragorn with them?"

"He is," Gandalf replied with a knowing smile, "I'm certain he will be eager to see the two of you again."

"We will take our leave then," the elf said. The two brothers began walking together towards the forest, taking the time to examine some of the dead orcs on the ground.

"Who's Aragorn?" Frodo asked curiously.

"Strider's true name is Aragorn," Gandalf explained, "Elladan and Elrohir have known him for his entire life and are quite fond of him." He turned Shadowfax towards the river Bruinen. "We go now to meet their father, Elrond half-elven, Lord of Rivendell."

 **A/N: A few review answers**

 **Wal Otter - Crazy builds upon crazy, and Saruman and Qyburn have it in spades.**

 **Lukas0908 - Don't fret for Aragorn and Arwen, even in a fic that burns down the Green Dragon some things are sacred.**

 **Sasswot2000 - Daven's men are all dead, the last of them got killed in the ambush that killed Theodred.**

 **Jack of Spades29 - The prophecy regarding the Witch King is an odd one. In the books he was killed through a combination of Merry stabbing him with an enchanted sword (the Westernesse blade from the barrow downs) and Eowyn using an otherwise normal sword. In the movies they both use normal swords. He might be a bit cautious around elves, dwarves, and the like, but against Jaime? He's pretty well covered by that prophecy any way you look at it.**


	65. LXIV The Hound

**LXIV**

 **The Hound**

The orcs had followed the Wizard and Frodo, leaving him, Strider, and the hobbits panting in exhaustion and relief.

"Will they be all right?" Sam asked anxiously, still holding the jeweled barrow blade.

"I've never seen a horse move like that, but who the hell knows how fast those things fly," he responded, leaning against one of the stone trolls. He put a hand under his armpit and winced at the pain, his fingers came away red with blood.

Strider noticed the wound and walked towards him, "Let me see that," the other man said. Clegane scowled but lifted his arm slightly. "We need to bandage that up… Which orc stabbed you?"

He looked around on the ground a moment, spotting the orc with its neck at an unnatural angle, "That one there, why do you ask?" Strider bent down to pick up the orc's blade. Holding it up to the light he sighed angrily. He showed it to Clegane, on the edge of the blade under the remaining blood he could see an oily white residue.

"Shit," he muttered. He already felt warm, too warm even for the summer air, and beads of sweat were beginning form on his forehead.

"What's wrong?" Merry asked, walking close.

"Poison," Strider replied. He whistled and the horses walked forward. "We need to get you to Rivendell." The ranger looked around and noticed a small cluster of weeds growing in the shade of a tree. He bent low to pick a few leaves and carried them towards Clegane.

"Whatever that is I'll pass," he said, "I don't need something numbing me right now," though even as he spoke the objects in the corners of his vision were growing blurry.

"Kingsfoil has no such properties," Strider replied, "it will prevent the wound from putrefying." He looked at the herbs a moment, they smelled pleasant… like a good wine on a summer evening. "It's this or using fire a few hours from now," Strider said.

"Use the herbs," he growled, his speech slurred slightly as he said it. After his wound was packed with the herb and bandaged Strider helped him onto Stranger. As they continued through the woods he heard his companions talking but couldn't quite make out the words. He distinctly heard his name a few times, but he was focusing more on the plodding of Stranger's footsteps. He no longer made out the individual trees, only a haze of green around him and the sweet wine smell of the kingsfoil filling his senses. He thought he heard voices calling his name again, but they were faint. Dimly he was aware of cool water splashing across his face and someone shouting for him, but then everything went white.

After a soft sleep with naught but a few fleeting dreams he awoke in a bed. Shifting he found it quite comfortable, opening his eyes he saw someone had dressed him in a set of cotton smallclothes consisting of white pants and a sleeveless shirt. He looked around and saw that he was in a room with a large window that sun was streaming through. To his left there was a small end table with a pitcher. Eagerly he reached for it and looked inside, but sighed as he saw that it was only water. He found that he was thirsty and poured himself a cup anyways.

He slowly stood up, his legs felt weak but supported him, and as he walked to the window they seemed to steady. He looked outside to see that wherever he was it overlooked a valley with a clear blue stream below fed by numerous waterfalls from the cliffs above. Evergreen trees filled the chasm wherever their roots could find purchase. Looking up he could see a number of wooden dwellings, each ornately carved and seeming to glow in the golden rays of the sun.

"A hell of a view," he muttered to himself, taking a sip of his water. Idly he reached under his arm to check his wound and found that it was bandaged. Moving the arm a moment he felt only the slightest pain from the wound. He stared at the valley for a little longer before turning back to the room.

He was pleased to see his armor and sword piled neatly in one corner, but there was also a white tunic hanging on the wall and a set of breeches that looked to be about his size. After dressing himself he walked out into the hallway to search for his host.

Walking through the halls of what he assumed was Rivendell he came to a great room where a number of tables were arranged before a great fireplace. Though wood was stacked within it no fire burned there now. Three figures sat at one of the tables talking lowly. Moving closer he saw that it was an elderly hobbit who was drinking with a pair of what he'd at first thought were short men with great beards, but then thinking on the things he'd heard from Gandalf on the trip there he realized they must be dwarves.

"Pardon strangers," he began, drawing their attention, "Where can I find Strider?" He looked at their cups a moment, "And also where could a man get some of that?"

The old hobbit chuckled, "I'm afraid I don't know a "strider," perhaps Lord Elrond could help you find your friend. He said he would return shortly to help these two settle in." He smiled, "As to your second inquiry there's some cups in there," he pointed to a cabinet by the wall, "If you'd like you could take one of those and share our wine." Seeing no reason not to he got himself a cup and sat at the table, "You must be Ser Clegane," the old hobbit said, pouring him a cup. "I'm glad to see you up and about, you didn't look so good when they brought you in."

He frowned, "Thanks for the sentiment, could I ask for your name since it seems you've already heard mine?"

"Oh where are my manners!" the hobbit exclaimed, "I am Bilbo Baggins, I believe you've met my nephew Frodo?"

He nodded, "We've become acquainted over the past few weeks yes."

"And this is Gloin and his son Gimli, they're dwarves of the Lonely Mountain!" the hobbit continued.

"Pleased to meet your acquaintance," the older of the two dwarves said. He had a reddish brown beard with a number of white streaks running through it, and long hair going down his back. His son Gimli looked similar, though with darker hair without signs of age.

"So you came from these "Westerlands" that supposedly appeared from thin air last year?" Gimli asked, "when I first heard about _that_ I'd thought the elves had finally gone soft in the head!" he laughed, "But Gandalf claims he's been there, and you look real enough to me!"

"On my way here I've seen quite a few things I've had trouble believing in myself," he said before taking a long drink.

"Oh I know that feeling!" Bilbo said laughing, "It's a dangerous business, going out your door… adventures seem to spring up out of chance meetings and before you know it you're a hundred miles from home, miserably wondering how it all came to this!"

"It wasn't all so bad now was it?" Gloin asked with a smile, "Remember how we got out of Thranduil's Caverns "barrel-rider?" The two of them laughed for a moment and then Gloin sighed, "I just wish Thorin was here to see Erebor in it's glory again… To times gone by Bilbo!" The two of them toasted, looking at one another he and Gimli joined glasses as well and drank.

"This has all gotten me a bit down," Bilbo said suddenly, "Let's have a song!"

"The Song of the Lonely Mountain?" Gloin asked.

Bilbo shook his head, "Too somber." He looked at Sandor and smiled, "Ser Clegane sing us a song from your country!"

He chuckled, "I don't think so…"

"With a face like that a man ought to be more outgoing," Gimli muttered under his breath.

"Gimli!" Gloin exclaimed angrily, but Clegane had already heard.

"And what's wrong with my face dwarf?" He stood up and drank the rest of his wine, slamming the cup down on the table. Gimli seemed embarrassed for a moment but before he could apologize Sandor continued, "Is the problem only visible from all the way down there?"

Gimli stood up now too, his head perhaps level with Clegane's stomach, "I'd watch your tongue Ser Clegane…" he growled, "From what I've heard you just woke back up, do you really want to get knocked out over a few words?"

He gave a cruel smile down at the dwarf and cracked his knuckles, "Someone's going to be."

"Well I see you're already making new friends Ser Clegane," a familiar voice said from behind him. He turned to see Gandalf standing with a tall dark haired figure in a silver robe, he noticed the stranger had pointed ears.

"I'm pleased to see you are awake and about Ser Clegane," the stranger said, "I'm certain you and master Gimli were not about to have a physical quarrel here in my halls… perhaps you could give me an explanation?"

 _He must be Lord Elrond._ He bowed a moment, "Pleased to make your acquaintance Lord Elrond…" He looked to the dwarf, their eyes met and an unspoken agreement was formed, "I was just showing Gimli here how…" he thought a moment, "how tall the orcs were back in the Shire." He held his hand a little under his chin, "They were around that big I'd say."

"That's fairly large," Gimli replied nodding. Still glaring at him the dwarf continued, "I still believe I could slay such a beast though."

"You'd have a hell of a time of it," he half growled.

"Well I am afraid I must tear you away from this… conversation, to ask you to a few questions Ser Clegane," Elrond said.

"Well Clegane I suppose we'll see you another time then," Bilbo said, from the look of their faces he and Gloin were trying desperately to hold back laughter. He saw Gimli's face go slightly red on seeing this.

"We'll finish this conversation another time Gimli, son of Gloin," he said with a false smile.

"I'll be looking forward to it," The dwarf said gruffly as he sat back down at the table with his father.

Clegane followed Elrond and Gandalf down another hallway, "A fine first impression Clegane," Gandalf said as they walked.

He shrugged, "I've had worse."

"From another man I wouldn't believe it," Gandalf muttered. They came to a secluded area with several benches arranged in a circle, like most of the areas in Rivendell it seemed to overlook the valley below.

They sat across from each other, "How is your wound?" Elrond asked him.

"Feels well enough," he said, "How long was I out?"

"A day and a half," the elf replied, "Your poison was not known to Strider or to my sons so they rushed you here as quickly as they could so that I could treat it. I believe it was intended to incapacitate rather than kill, but you still gave your friends something of a fright."

He frowned, "Thanks…"

Elrond raised an eyebrow, "Does something trouble you?"

He shrugged, "Where I come from a person in your position wouldn't be treating the wounds of a man in mine… or any wounds for that matter."

The elf smiled, "Yes, mannish realms have some rather peculiar hierarchies… though I've always believed that the hands of a king are the hands of a healer in any realm."

"That hasn't been my experience with kings," Clegane muttered. "If you've already heard everything about Saruman what more is there that you think I can tell you?"

"The ring," Gandalf said quietly, "Have… have you heard its call?"

The unburnt image of himself from the Barrow Downs flashed through his mind, "Yes."

Gandalf sighed, "Aragorn has heard it as well, it grows stronger with its master." Gandalf saw his confusion, "Aragorn is Strider's true name, aliases seem rather pointless now."

He shrugged, "His real name means about as much to me as his fake one."

"I have questions about the Westerlands as well," Elrond cut in, "You are the first from this new realm to venture to Rivendell, though my friend Cirdan in the Grey Havens says that many ships from Lannisport have found their way to his harbor. The final battle is drawing near, I would know whether Tywin Lannister will lead his armies to war with Mordor or not.

"If Lord Tywin believes that he's suffered some insult at the hands of Sauron he'll fight no matter how hopeless it is," Clegane growled, "The man's borderline mad when it comes to his family honor, and he's willing to do anything to punish those who've injured it."

Gandalf nodded, "I fear Tywin Lannister does not know the magnitude of the war he's stepping into, but he seems committed now. I only hope you are right and that he does not shrink away from this challenge."

"If there's one thing the Old Lion's not it's timid," Clegane said dryly, "If there's violence to be done you can rely on him to do it."

Elrond nodded, "Time will tell…" A low smile came across the elven lord's face, "Come Ser Clegane, the hobbits were quite concerned about you and it would be best to put their minds at ease. Tonight we will host a feast in honor of our newly arrived guests. Rivendell is known as the last homely house east of the sea, tonight you will see why. Many songs will be sung, perhaps you can sing for us some songs of the Westerlands."

 _Did he overhear my argument with the dwarf?_ He wondered, but he smiled anyway, "We'll see."

 **A/N: A bit of a slower chapter but people are starting to reach Rivendell at least right? Anyways reviews**

 **Sailor Celaeno - Thanks but I did finally get in and I posted this story over on Archive of Our Own as well. Also the links to various maps and such seem to work over there so if anyone's looking for them still you can go over there and find them. The story has the same name and I'm using the same username there too.**

 **Window Girl - Thanks! It's actually the first thing I've written for anyone outside of work, I'm having a blast too.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Most people seem to think the flying orcs were scary, that's good I was worried I'd get a bunch of Wizard of Oz jokes in the reviews.**

 **Guest - Smallburrow definitely hasn't mastered the longsword he's just spent a few months training under Clegane so he's probably the best hobbit with a sword right now... that said it's not exactly a crowded field. Your other complaints about Hollywood tactics are noted.**


	66. LXV The Queen

**LXV**

 **The Queen**

Dressing as a man had been less unpleasant than Cersei had expected, she had more freedom of movement since anytime since she'd been a child and she found the August heat much more bearable in a loose cotton shirt than in one of the flowing dresses she would normally be wearing.

As she rode beside Kevan her hand idly went to her hair, he'd forced her to cut it short before they left, and where it had once trailed down her back now it barely reached the nape of her neck.

"It'll grow back," her uncle said as he rode beside her, "And if you'd kept it long it would've become filthy and tangled in every little thing."

She sighed, "Yes uncle." The two of them were traveling out of North Gondor and into the realm of Rohan. "What manner of escort did Tyrion say would be waiting for us?"

Kevan shrugged, "I cannot say. Tywin only said that Tyrion would arrange for anything we needed to be provided for us when we reached Edoras."

"We should have brought men of our own," she muttered, "Tyrion will strike at us when we least expect it. Father conspires to rid himself of me and Tyrion will only be too happy to oblige him."

"And I suppose I'm just an unfortunate casualty of this grand plan?" Kevan replied with annoyance, "As I said when we left Gondor, your father and I thought that secrecy would be best, two lone travelers arouse less suspicion than a group of twenty or a hundred." He pointed to a small thin sword on her belt with a smile, "Besides if brigands fall upon us you're suitably armed…"

"With a weapon I've no idea how to use," she said bitterly.

Kevan chuckled, "I seem to recall a little girl who always wanted to wave around wooden toy swords with her brother."

"And where he was taught how to fight with a real one I was instead taught sewing and the proper manner to tie a corset closed," she sneered. "I'm as likely to kill a man with ribbons and thread as I am with this."

Kevan just smiled, "It's not so hard, just stick them with the pointy end."

As they continued through the wasteland of Rohan she found herself growing more and more annoyed with her uncle's seeming cheer. Finally things came to a head one night as they stopped to prepare a camp. They'd chosen to stop at a small barn built alongside the road, likely built for travelers long ago. It contained a pair of stables, though no feed, and outside there was a small fire pit and a well. As they dismounted Kevan handed her a small block of steel and a piece of flint.

"Gather some kindling and start a fire, I'm going to go get the horses some water."

"I don't know how to do this," she said angrily, pushing the flint back into her uncles hands.

He raised an eyebrow, "You've watched me do it every night up until now, it's not difficult."

"Such menial work is beneath us, you and father were the ones who decided this ridiculous trip would be without servants, _you_ should be the one to deal with the consequences!"

He sighed, "Cersei, why do you think others do your "menial work" for you?"

"To show the proper respect a lady of my standing deserves," she sniffed.

"Respect," Kevan said waving a finger, "That's a part of it yes, let's talk about that a moment. When your father and I came back from the War of the Ninepenny Kings our family was lacking greatly in the "respect" that you seem to believe makes the world turn. I'm certain you know how that ended."

She smiled arrogantly, "I've heard the _Reynes of Castamere_ uncle _."_

He nodded, "Then you've some idea how to make people respect a name, but how does a man, or in your case a woman I suppose, go about earning respect for themselves?"

Her smile faltered, "Uncle I'm afraid I don't follow-"

"As Tywin managed things in the Rock he charged me with clearing the Westerlands of bandits and highwaymen, they were widespread at the time… With the house in dire straits few knights answered our call, most of the men I lead then were smallfolk, and not even respectable among them I'm afraid." He gave a wistful smile, "They were not the sorts to take orders from some spoiled prince of the Rock."

"So you had them disciplined?" She asked, in spite of herself she found the story interesting, "Whipped them to show the price of insubordination?"

He chuckled, "There were times when a firm hand was needed to be sure, but much of it was changing the way they saw me, it's hard to mock a man who carries as heavy a burden as you, who slogs with you through rain and mud, who takes his turn starting the fire every night at camp…"

"I still don't see the point of this tale," she said dismissively.

"The point, my niece, is that respect is _earned_ , and you could perhaps _earn_ some by starting the fire." He led the horses inside the barn and into the stables while she looked derisively at the flint in her hand.

"Don't you already respect me uncle?" she called after him.

He stopped in his tracks and turned around, "Cersei," he said tersely, "There is no polite way to answer that question."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she sneered.

Her uncle's eyes narrowed, "That a bad grapes come from a bad vine Cersei. Start the damned fire." With that he stormed off into the barn. Reluctantly she did as he asked, though she cut her hand several times striking the steel against the edged rock.

Later that night she lay awake, listening to the soft snoring of her uncle from the other side of the barn. The rough floor of the barn was barely cushioned at all by the rough blankets Kevan had packed, she found herself constantly turning, trying to find a comfortable position. As sleep continued to elude her she found her thoughts turning to dark places.

 _Joffrey is lost to me,_ the thought brought a tear to her eye, but she blinked it away, _Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds, and when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you…_ She shuddered, the words had haunted her for her entire life… and now they were beginning to come true. _Tyrion,_ she thought angrily, _The valonqar… he admitted it himself._

Abandoning sleep she stood up and walked to the barn door. Easing it open slightly she looked back to see that Kevan was still asleep, satisfied that he was she stepped outside into the night air. The stars were out and shone brightly, the evening star of the West brightest of all. As she watched the brightest of the stars she found herself thinking of her children, of all she'd wanted them to be…

 _A new world for old words!_ The Witch King's voice cut through her thoughts like a cold dagger. She almost stumbled, _gold will be their shrouds…_ She clenched her fists, _No,_ she thought, _let the valonqar take me if that is my destiny, but my children will be free from this curse!_

She walked back indoors and lay back down, weariness beginning to overcome the hard floors and the scratchy blanket. As she closed her eyes her thoughts continued, _Queen you shall be... until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear._ She turned over and her last thoughts before sleep took her echoed through her mind, _the other queen... she will not take my children from me…_

She opened her eyes the next morning to find that Kevan was already up, the smell of cooking meat entered her nostrils and she found her stomach growling. She stood up and walked outside to find Kevan seated on a stump by the fire.

"Good morning," he said, handing her a roasted sausage speared on a stick, "well rested I trust?"

"Well enough," she said bitterly, she was still angry about him for the things he'd said, but she took the food anyway. "How much further is it until we reach Edoras?"

"Days at most," Kevan replied, "Tyrion will provide us with remounts and an escort when we arrive." He pulled a map from his pack and unfurled it, "From what I understand the only way across this Entwash river is a ford northwest of the city."

"I'm sure the little imp is looking forward to making us beg for accommodations," she spat. _The valonqar… he cannot take me until I have lost all I love. I am safe in his presence… for now._

"Whatever enmity exists between the two of you I would ask that you put it aside in the name of our mission," Kevan said as he rolled the map up, "Finish your breakfast and we'll be on our way."

A few days later they finally came within sight of the city of Edoras, it was smaller than Cersei expected but as they rode through the town her spirit lifted on seeing the great hall at the top of the hill on which the settlement was built. It wasn't nearly as large as Casterly Rock, nor even the Crag truth be told, but it was a palace, and a palace meant baths, wine, servants, and any number of other comforts. She felt her spirits rising, even the prospect of seeing Tyrion again was seeming less horrible as they drew closer.

They were allowed entry by the guards and escorted into the main hall by a man who Cersei took to be their captain. As they entered she saw Tyrion seated on a small chair next to a larger wooden throne with numerous horse motifs carved into it.

"Lord Tyrion, your guests have arrived," the man said.

"Thank you Hama, I'll see to them from here," Tyrion stepped off the throne and held his arms wide, "Uncle Kevan! Dear sister! Welcome to Medusheld, seat of King Theoden of Rohan!"

"Tyrion," Kevan nodded, looking around, "Well it seems you're well set up here… might we see the king? Or perhaps his regent Lady Eowyn?"

A serving girl arrived with a pitcher of wine and cups, she handed the three of them each one in turn, Cersei took hers eagerly.

"The king is…" He waited until the servant had finished pouring their wine and left before answering, "The king's mind fails him. I would introduce you but he will not remember your names or faces by this evening. Most of the times I've seen him he has asked who I am. Lady Eowyn is in the field and sends her apologies that she cannot be here in person."

Cersei raised an eyebrow, "She is in the field?"

"Indeed," Tyrion replied, taking a drink, "She's quite skilled with a blade and has proven herself an able leader of men as well. She's already achieved one victory against the Wizard and I hope to soon receive word of a second."

"Damned impressive for a woman," Kevan commented, "I'm sorry we cannot stay to await her return."

Tyrion sighed, "I'm sure you've realized by now that this is merely one front in a larger war. I fear it will last long enough that you shall meet her in time… Though I suppose that is part of why you are here is it not?"

"We seek the elves of Lothlorien," Cersei said, "Father has sent us on a mission to ask for their aid against Sauron."

Tyrion nodded, "So I've heard. Though I must admit sister, the reason for your presence here is something of a mystery to me."

"Cersei has become quite learned in the lore and history of the elves," Kevan explained, "Tywin thought that perhaps she would be able to put that knowledge to practical use."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, "Truly? Well I'll have all the books we have on the topic brought to your room at once then. The library here isn't half as large as the one in Minas Tirith, but I enjoyed the Leland of Lossnarch's _Journeys in Lorien._

 _Always so sure of his own cleverness,_ "I suppose for the novice reader it's entertaining enough," she said with a false smile, "but more… academic, texts seem to contradict some of the things he claims he saw there."

Tyrion stared at her a moment and then laughed, "Well I'll take your word for it until I have a chance to read more on it myself… I must admit Cersei this is something from you I didn't expect."

"There's much more to me than a pretty face," she replied sweetly, _I am my father's daughter Imp!_

"Evidently so," Tyrion muttered. "Allow me to show you to your chambers, Daven is around here somewhere training some recruits in swordsmanship, I'm sure he'd be glad to see you as well." He paused and looked at her, she was suddenly conscious of how dirty she was, of how short her hair had been cut. "Cersei, if you'd like to change clothes and clean yourself up Lady Eowyn has given me permission to offer you her chambers for your stay."

 _The Lady's own chambers?_ "Give her my thanks, where might I find them?"

"Pass down that hallway there," he said, pointing to the left of the throne, "The final door at the end is hers."

Cersei nodded, "If you'll excuse me then…" she walked down the hallway Tyrion had indicated and entered Eowyn's room. It was pleasant enough, a small table, a shelf with some personal items on it. She saw that her bag had been brought from the stables and laid at the foot of the bed. On the table was a small bowl of water and a washrag. Sighing she walked to it and began washing her face.

As the cool water ran over her face she took the opportunity to look around. She had been in Jaime's chambers enough times to recognize a few items that gave the room away as a swordsman's… no a swordswoman's. A whetstone sat on the shelf, a shield hung on the wall, a small flask sat on the end table. Without opening it she knew it contained a strong smelling oil used to prevent rust.

 _This Eowyn… they don't care that she is a woman, they follow her to war regardless._ She stood up and walked to the wall where the shield hung. Alongside it hung a small axe and a dagger not unlike the one Kevan had given her back in Osgiliath. These were tools used to skilled hands, she looked back at the thin rapier that Kevan had given her before they'd left Minas Tirith. It seemed almost like a toy now, with its gilded guard and roaring lion pommel.

 _If only I'd had this life..._ She sighed a moment and went back to finish washing her face.

 **A/N: Over on Archive of Our Own I added a chapter that's just a collection of all the maps, if anyone still hasn't seen them you can go find them there.**

 **Lukas0908 - Well Gimli's entered the story right? That's at least one Dwarf.**

 **Slytherhiss - Well you can't really deny the Fellowship glory since the only real way to beat Sauron is to destroy the ring, but don't worry there's going to be plenty of glory to go around regardless.**

 **89 - I'm pretty sure there's plenty of people around capable of keeping him in line, heck the Council of Elrond is basically a "who's who" of badasses of Middle Earth.**

 **L'Etranger9 - Qyburn figured out that if he hollows out the bones he can create a flying orc that's light enough to work. They're pretty fragile and can't wear any armor, but they're great as scouts or ambush units.**


	67. LXVI The Golden Knight

**LXVI**

 **The Golden Knight**

The return march to the Westerlands was a somber affair. His father had remained behind with a third of their forces and the wounded, leaving him with perhaps fifteen thousand men. Casualties at Osgiliath were much lighter than they could've been, all things considered, but it was hard to call it anything other than a defeat. The glorious Lannister host that had marched out of the Tooth a month before now trudged back, bloodied if not broken.

Jaime rode at the forefront, he had made the ride from Minas Tirith to the Tooth several times now and knew the route well. Though he led the army he had few friends among the remaining knights and lords. Marbrand, who could usually be counted on for least decent conversation if not insight, had remained behind to command his father's host. He spoke little except to issue orders, and he spent the nights alone with his thoughts.

 _Mother…_ During the days, as he rode beneath the sun in the company of other men, he sometimes questioned whether he had really spoken with her or if it had been some fever dream brought on by the elf's healing, but in the dark of night as he stared at the ceiling of his tent he knew it had been real. He still felt the shame, not only of his incest but of all the dark things he'd done to preserve it.

 _The Stark boy…_ he thought, _what became of him I wonder? Crippled at least._ He remembered his mother's words, _Make things right Jaime… how the hell can I do that? After the things I've done?_ He frowned, _What the hell is "right" anyways? Was it "right" to leave Cersei to Robert Baratheon?_ On some level he knew it was a flimsy excuse, but he allowed the angry indignation to grow, _Was it "right" to let the Mad King burn every soul in King's Landing?_

"Burn them all…" he whispered to himself.

"Ser Jaime!" a man said riding towards him, "There are men on the road ahead!"

"Friend or foe?" he asked, snapping out of his memory.

"Friend from the looks of them, they've got a white tree banner and they seem Gondorian enough to me," the man replied.

As they passed over another of the small foothills the other force came into view, it was perhaps two hundred men, as he came closer he could see they were all heavily armored and had great double-sided axes. The leader, an enourmously fat bearded man who reminded Jaime of an older Robert Baratheon, rode towards him mounted on a great draft horse.

"You must be Jaime Lannister!" The man called with a grin, "Unless there's more than one knight wearing golden armor riding about?"

"I am Ser Jaime Lannister," he said cautiously, "I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure Ser…?"

"I'm Forlong, Lord of Lossnarch," The man said cheerfully, "You might've heard of me…"

He frowned, "I'm afraid I haven't. Are you a vassal of Denethor?"

The smile on the fat man's face faltered, "Forlong true-friend? Forlong the Fat?" seeing no recognition on Jaime's face he sighed, "Forlong the Old maybe?" Jaime shook his head, "I'm sure it's just because you're a foreigner," the man assured himself, "I suppose it's forgivable."

Jaime tried to offer the man a smile, "Well I've certainly heard of you now. What business do you have with me?"

Forlong regained his composure, "I've come to march with you back to your homeland and aid you in liberating it from the orcs. I've got two hundred of the finest lads of Lossnarach here!" a cheer went up from the men behind him, "Lord Denethor sent a message ahead of you with one of those ravens your folk brought, marvelous creatures by the way."

"Well any help would certainly be appreciated," Jaime said, "But are you and your people not needed here in Gondor?"

Forlong shrugged, "I think Denethor wants to show he's honoring our alliance even in dark times, besides from what I hear you lot left at least a few thousand men behind in our place. Even with us marching with you I think we're getting the better end of this bargain!"

Jaime nodded, "Very well then, I suppose your men can march with the rest of our infantry."

"You heard him lads!" Forlong yelled. Obeying his orders his men trudged backwards towards the column of men. Rather than follow the Forlong began riding alongside Jaime. "So you're the famous Kingslayer?"

"I am," Jaime replied without emotion, "Are you sure you wouldn't rather march with your men?"

Forlong waved a hand dismissively, "They can figure out how to walk in a line without my help, I need to get to know the man who's going to be giving the orders on this little adventure of ours."

Jaime sighed, "I mean no offense Lord Forlong, but I'm afraid I'll prove poor company right now."

"Well a foul mood is acceptable in the face of a defeat, I'll not hold it against you."

"I'm afraid more than our defeat at Osgiliath troubles me," he replied, spurring his horse back to the front of the column. He was somewhat annoyed to hear the plodding of the fat man's enormous horse behind him.

"Ah I understand, worried about what's happened to your homeland," Forlong said.

 _A thick sort this one,_ seeing no other alternative to conversation Jaime decided to reply, "Do you know who leads the orcs we're to face Lord Forlong?"

The other man nodded, his chins bobbing under his thick beard, "Of course, King Joffrey Baratheon, the traitor king we've taken to calling him."

"A king I took an oath before man and gods to serve and defend," Jaime said bitterly, "and my nephew as well." _My son…_

Forlong was quiet a moment, "Gondor has felt the pain of kin-strife…"

"And what does Gondor say of oathbreakers like myself?" he asked, his temper creeping into his voice, "Surely you know of how my betrayal?"

Forlong was a bit taken aback by his hostility, but still replied, "Ser Jaime I don't know who you think you have betrayed…"

"Kingslayer is not an honorific," he snapped.

The fat man stroked his beard a moment, "Ser Jaime," he said finally, "If you think your actions dishonor you, if your countrymen say the same, know that your tale has inspired nothing but admiration among my own subjects."

They continued on in silence and after a time Forlong dropped behind him again, mixing with the throng of other riders. As the familiar landmarks passed he felt himself growing bored and angry with the world again, not even the magnificent sights of Pelargir and Dol Amroth could lift his spirits, he sent another man into the cities to procure supplies while he brooded in camp. As they passed from the more densely populated hills and villages of Eastern Gondor he saw the road open up into the rolling prairie that would lead them to the mountains of his home and to the Golden Tooth.

It was in the midst of these waving amber fields that Forlong the Fat again rode next to him, "So Ser Jaime, what can we expect to find in the Westerlands? Good wines? Pretty girls perhaps?" the man asked with a grin.

Jaime shrugged, "I can make arrangements to make sure you and your men sample some of the Westerlands finest delicacies. As to the girls they're fair and pretty, though if you are looking for a whorehouse I'm afraid I'm not-"

"Oh no no lad," Forlong said laughing and waving his hand, "I'm afraid I've got a wife back at home, even fatter and hairier than I am if you can believe it, a damned good cook though… An old man like me still likes to stop and see the flowers now and again. You'll understand someday when you're married."

"The Kingsguard take no wives," he replied.

"Well from the way your father's men tell it you won't be in the Kingsguard for much longer.

Jaime raised an eyebrow, "What have you heard?"

Forlong shrugged, "Well it sounds like most of the men want you out."

He frowned, _The men?_ "What do you mean?" he asked.

Now Forlong raised an eyebrow, "Ser Jaime they say that, among other heroics, you personally did battle with the Lord of the Nazgul while your men and your father escaped. That's not the sort of thing a man forgets. From the way your "smallfolk" tell it if you defeat your nephew in battle they're all but going to force a crown on your head."

 _What?!_ "Who cares what the bloody smallfolk think!" he snarled. "I've got another nephew next in line for the throne, and a living father as well, I will wear no crown."

Forlong raised his hands, "I mean no offense Ser Jaime! I'm merely telling you what I've heard…" he pulled a piece of bread from his saddlebag and broke it in two, offering one piece to Jaime, who declined. Shrugging he bit into it, "You know Ser Jaime," he said, bits of bread coming out of the corners of his mouth, "If… certain things should come to pass I've got a pair of lovely daughters…"

 _If his wife is hairier and fatter than him…_ Jaime shuddered, imagining what the girls would look like, "A fine offer Lord Forlong, but if I should leave the Kingsgaurd I believe my father has already arranged some manner of marriage for me in any event," he said tersely, "Some girl from Rohan I believe, the king's niece."

"Ah Lady Eowyn! They say she's a pretty one, never been up to Rohan myself though," Forlong said, finishing his bread. "Well now you've _got_ to leave the Kingsguard if there's a princess on the line!"

Jaime was about to reply but then he stopped, _Why am I still in the Kingsguard? Cersei…_ He had a sudden realization, without Cersei what did the Kingsguard still hold for him? Protecting a king? _We will meet only once more, when the nations of men again call you Kingslayer… Could such a thing as that predict the future?_ He thought of Joffrey and sighed. Yes, yes it could.

"Are you all right?" Forlong's words interrupted his thoughts.

"Yes," he nodded suddenly, "Just… thinking on what you said."

After several more days of marching they finally came within sight of the familiar mountains that bordered the Westerlands. As the army made camp he and a group of knights, including Forlong, rode towards the keep to speak with its lady, Lord Lefford having remained with Tywin's host. She waited for them in front of the keep with a pair of guards at her sides, she was a stately looking woman entering her fifties, only a smattering of brown left in hair that was otherwise going grey.

"Greetings Ser Jaime," she said as she looked at the group of knights with him, her eyes lingered on Forlong, "The rest I know, but who are you Ser Knight?"

"This is Forlong the-" he almost said "fat" but stopped himself, "Lord of Lossarnach."

Forlong bowed slightly, an act that must've been difficult with his immense stomach, "Pleased to meet you my lady."

"How goes the war?" Jaime asked her, he gave a small smile, "I don't suppose we're lucky enough to hear Joffrey has already been defeated?"

She shook her head, "I'm afraid not, the Banefort and the Crag have fallen, word reaches us that Joffrey's monsters rape and pillage the countryside and the rebels march with him. They say that the Reyne bastard wears armor as black as night and is as cruel as any of Joffrey's beasts."

 _The Reynes… all of my family's sins have come home to roost,_ "What of prince Eomer? I had heard he was leading our armies…"

"He sent ravens out from the Crag several days ago," she replied, taking a letter from one of her guards and handing it to Jaime, "He said he was going to ride South to Casterly Rock through the rebel forces, and that the women and children with him would be sent to Ashemark. I know from Lady Marbrand's letters that those fleeing Joffrey arrived there safely… but no further word of prince Eomer has reached us."

Jaime clenched his fist angrily, "What of Casterly Rock? Has Lancel come to his senses yet?"

She shook her head, "He and his "Faith Militant" surround the Rock and hold Lannisport. I fear he's gone mad, but your uncle Ser Stafford will not commit to battle against him. I believe he thinks the boy can be reasoned with."

Jaime sighed, "We will need to separate from the infantry and ride ahead, We have all seen what manner of creatures these orcs are. The time for diplomacy with these fanatics is over, even if Lancel must be… dealt with." There was a murmur of agreement from the assembled riders behind him. He turned to face them, "Rest well tonight, tomorrow we ride for Casterly Rock!"

 **A/N: I know this is the third chapter in a row of "people going places" but don't worry the action will pick up again soon**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Kevan's underused I think by a lot of fics and the TV show. If you read his book chapters he's a fairly insightful guy who figures out a lot of things Tywin didn't.**

 **Slytherhiss - Thanks!**

 **89 - Well Galadriel, with her millenia of hard earned wisdom MIGHT be able to get through to Cersei**

 **Pyromania101 - I like Eowyn a lot as this fic probably shows, I wouldn't worry about her missing out on any glory to be had.**

 **Hotrod333 - well here's how I imagine Sandor meeting a Balrog would go**

 **Gandalf: Fire and shadow! A balrog of Morgoth!**

 ***balrog appears***

 **Sandor: Well I quit, it's been fun guys but fuck fighting that thing, I'm going back to Westeros.**

 **I joke of course :)**


	68. LXVII The Crow's Eye

**LXVII**

 **The Crow's Eye**

It had been perhaps a week since they had sailed out of Umbar to much cheering and applause, the docks lined with young women and old men, clapping and shouting as Umbar's black ships passed out of the haven. His longships formed up the vanguard, though the black sailed ships behind would prove more instrumental in the coming naval battle. To explain his plan he had gathered all of the captains aboard the largest of the Corsair ships, though it would always hold a place in his heart _Silence_ was simply too small.

"To begin with," he started, sauntering across the deck and taking in the faces, some familiar, some new, "We have forty greatship captains!" he pointed to the captains who shouted in acknowledgement, "ten of my Iron Captains!" he pointed to the men, assembled behind Herumor. They cried out in excitement as well. He finally reached a third group arrayed on the deck, these were captains of smaller vessels, most were wearing leather or a few patches of dull iron, the working men of Umbar, "And all the rest!" he shouted with glee.

In the corner of his eye he saw Herumor nudge the Fisherman, "Perhaps you would be more comfortable over with them."

"Perhaps you would be more comfortable overboard." The Fisherman retorted.

"Now now," Euron said, returning to the middle of the assembled men, "There will be no quarreling amongst ourselves this day! We are on the verge of our greatest triumph." He paused for effect, allowing the wind to ripple through the sails ominously, "Pelargir, the great city of the River Anduin, will fall to us, the Kraken and the Eye shall rise over it! Their gold will be in our purses, their women between our sheets!" a raucous laughter followed that comment. "Our enemy gathers their fleets before the mouth of this great river, the only thing standing in our way is a collection of sickly-soft children they call warriors."

"What are their numbers?" Herumor asked.

"The Gondorian fleet numbers perhaps thirty larger ships, the Lannister fleet under Lord Crakehall the same," He replied. He had watched them gathering in the Palantir and knew they would join before he could engage them separately. There was silence at this, until finally one of the captains came forward.

"Captain Greyjoy, I mean no disrespect, but those numbers seem-"

"We will not fight them all at once," He said, walking to the edge of the ship. "We will destroy the Gondorian fleet and then the Lannsiter fleet on our own terms."

"Do you expect one to simply watch as we sink the other?" the captain asked, dumfounded.

Euron chuckled, "Yes, though whether they shall see us or some nightmare of their own devise I cannot say."

The captain frowned, "What do you mean?"

Euron pointed to a great square barge that floated at the edge of their fleet, it was a slow and unwieldly thing, with purple x's painted up and down its hull and a pair of great sails atop it and a number of oars sticking out on either side.

"That ship is loaded with Na'Man and a few… other things I've added to help the potency. When the time comes I shall set it alight and none will be able to cross in its wake without falling into madness." He turned back to face them, "The Lannister fleet comes from the West, they row against the wind." Understanding dawned on the crowd and the men murmered amongst themselves. "The Gondorians and the Westermen believe that we will be caught between them," he continued, "when really it is they who will find themselves divided and then conquered."

There was silence a moment before Herumor spoke again, "Well what are we waiting for? Let's sail!" There was a final cheer before the various captains boarded their small rowboats and headed back towards their own ships. His Iron captains walked towards him.

"Whatever happens we'll follow you Captain Greyjoy," the fisherman said firmly, "My sons and their sons will live well for generations thanks to you."

"My own family already lives well," Herumor said with some amusement, "But the Fisherman speaks my thoughts too."

"Good to hear," he said smiling, _As loyal as any of the mutes and I don't even have to talk them around to pulling their tongues…_

They made decent time sailing up the coast, the barge was what slowed them the most and the winds were fair enough that the great wide sails helped it keep up. He watched from the deck as the shores changed from the sands of Harad to the plains of South Gondor, and finally to a green grass as they rounded the coast toward the river opening.

He knew from nights spent gazing into the Palantir that the Gondorian fleet had assembled to guard the mouth of the river, the crews camped along the many sandbars and small islands near it's outlet into the sea. Now as they came into sight again he smiled, _I saw you with the crow's eye, now I see you with my smiling eye…_

He unfurled a spyglass, much like the glassmakers of the free city of Myr the Umbari made them, though they were not quite so refined. He looked over at the mouth of the river and smiled as the Gondorians boarded their ships and rowed into the bay. His own men were practiced seamen, and they fell into formation behind _Silence._

Horns blew from the Gondorian fleet suddenly, and he chuckled as he turned his spyglass to the West. The first few Lannister ships were appearing over the western horizon now. _They probably think we're shitting ourselves…_ He looked back at his crew.

"How about a sea shanty before battle?" he called with a smile. The mutes just looked at him with confusion and he chuckled, "Oh… right. Do any of you mind if I sing?" now there were some annoyed grunts. He frowned, "You're all lucky we're about to go into battle…"

They were going faster now, the Lannister ships growing steadily larger on the horizon until they could be made out with the naked eye as the Umbari fleet bore down on the swan-ships of Gondor. Feeling an uncontrollable excitement he climbed up onto the ship's bow, closing his eyes and savoring the rushing sound of water against the hull of his ship.

He opened his eye again, the wind stung but he forced his eyelids wide anyway, "FORWARD!" he shouted. In the corner of his eye he saw the barge bear away from his ships towards the Lannister fleet. One of his more dedicated men would be on the deck, a torch in hand, the slaves working the oars had been told that freedom and glory awaited them.

The Gondorian ships were coming closer now, he frowned as he saw one of the larger white ships break away from the rest and speed towards the barge. _Whoever captains that ship knows_ he realized suddenly.

"There!" he shouted, pointing at the swan-ship, "after that ship!" the rowers worked fervently to bring them on course with the larger vessel. As they passed _Pharazon_ he shouted to Herumor, "With me! We sink that ship!" as they passed he heard the other captain barking orders and he looked back to see the other longship following in his wake.

The longships were faster than the Gondorian boat, and they were soon behind it, _Silence_ and _Pharazon_ each taking one side. As they drew closer arrows came from the other ship, he watched unfazed as they trailed into the water around him. One struck the wailing woman carved on the ship's bow.

He looked ahead to see the barge had now been lit, the bluish smoke of the Na'man entering the air. The first of the Lannister ships were entering it now and he knew their crews would soon feel it's effects. He looked back to the ship he and Herumor were now pursuing, the front end of it lilted slightly. _A ram,_ he realized, _they'll puncture the barge below the waterline!_ Turning his head he saw that the rest of the Corsair fleet was beginning to engage the Gondorians. _If the Westerlands fleet is able to enter the battle now…_

He walked back to the deck of the ship, "Prepare a boarding party!" he shouted, drawing his own sword. He looked to the other ship, narrowing his eye he could barely make out the lettering on the side, _The Faithful._ He snarled angrily, "Who captains you?" He whispered as the ships drew close.

 **A/N: This chapter is kind of a two-parter, see the next one for review responses.**


	69. LXVIII The Captain of Gondor

**LXVIII**

 **The Captain of Gondor**

Boromir had left for Pelargir as soon as his father had received word of the Corsairs sailing out of Umbar. Though he had argued that this was a task more suited for Prince Imrahil his father had insisted that he go.

"Does this Victarion Greyjoy pose such a great threat father?" he'd asked, "I have spoken with Lord Tywin about him… he seems a fearsome warrior to be sure, but little else.

"Tywin Lannister is mistaken," his father had replied, "The foe who commands the fleets of Umbar is not Victarion Greyjoy, he is a far greater danger, one beyond the ability of Prince Imrahil. You, my son, are the only one I can trust with this matter." As he'd left his father had called after him, "beware the enemy's tricks!"

It has been those words that had echoed through his mind as he'd seen the Corsair fleet sailing straight at his own, _They must see the Lannister fleet by now… why don't they divert course?_ He saw the barge diverting from the rest of the ships then, _A single ship to hold off an entire fleet?_ He frowned, _A fire ship perhaps?_ No, it was far too large and unwieldly…

"Your orders Lord Boromir?" a man in a winged helm stood next to him on the ship's deck, normally this would have been his ship but today he served as a first mate.

"I want that ship sunk," he said pointing to the barge.

"But that would require us to break from the rest of the fleet," the man said, "Is that wise?"

"There is something off here, some trick that we do not see… I seek to uncover it. Give your orders."

"At once my lord," the man said, he turned to yell to the rowers. The ship lurched forward and he felt the western wind blowing through his hair. He smiled seeing the white tree standard waving proudly from the top of the ship.

As they parted from the rest of the fleet he saw two of the Umbari ships break from their fleet to intercept them, the golden krakens on the black sails flaring outward as they caught the wind. _So there is something important about the barge,_ he thought, _else why would they pursue me?_

"Full speed ahead!" he called. In the galley below he heard the rhythmic drumming grow louder and faster as the oars turned in time. The swan ship had a bronze ram underneath the bow, one good strike from it would sink any ship in the Bay of Belfalas. The longships chasing him were gaining now, "Fire at will!" he called the archers, he saw the men on the deck scramble to loose bows at the approaching ships, most went wide, for they were moving fast now and the bobbing of the waves made archery difficult, but he watched as at least one man tumbled into the water off the deck of one of the pursuing ships.

 _We won't reach the barge before they reach us,_ he realized, "Prepare to be boarded!" he called. He reached for his horn, pulling it from his belt. He cradled it in his hands a moment, it was made of the bone of the great aurochs of the East, the silver characters scrawled upon it glittered in the light as he brought it to his lips. As he blew the horn the men on his deck cheered and drew their swords and began slamming them against their shields defiantly.

The first of the ships came alongside them, the crews shouted battle cries at one another and spears, knives, and arrows, passed between them before the longship slammed into the side of the ship, causing Boromir to stumble slightly. He jumped down to the lower deck as the gangplanks from the other ship slammed into the deck railing. As soon as he landed he drew his sword, he saw immediately that the boarders were not Umbari, they were lightly armored and were covered in strange tattoos, their weapons axes and straight blades instead of the curved shamshirs favored by the Corsairs.

Before he could join the fight that was developing a shadow passed over the deck, he looked up to see that one man had swung on a rope tied to the top of the mast, the man released his grip and dropped in front of him gracefully, drawing a sword in one fluid motion as he stood up. He was a pale man with a short cropped beard, one bright blue eye studied him opposite a black leather eyepatch.

With a shout Boromir charged him, bringing a wide sword swing against the man with all of his strength. The man blocked him quickly, staggering under the blow. He leapt backward a few feet before Boromir could strike again, Boromir gritted his teeth as the man began circling him.

"You're damned strong," his foe said with a smile.

"Come over here and we'll test that," Boromir said angrily.

The man just laughed and held his blade out, "Who captains this vessel?" he asked, "Who shall I brag that I killed?"

"I am Boromir, son of Denethor, Steward of the throne of Gondor," he replied, watching the man carefully as they circled one another.

"Well when you meet your gods tell them Euron Greyjoy sent you to them!" he stabbed at Boromir but Boromir fell back, Greyjoy slashed at him perhaps a dozen times in the space of a minute, with him barely blocking each blow. The man was fast, as fast as Jaime at least, though Boromir easily held attack from finding its mark. They separated again, his foe panted with exhaustion, looking around he saw several of the boarders dead along with his own men, the clang of steel striking steel echoed through the air.

He gripped his sword tightly, "Tired already Lord Greyjoy?" he asked with a grin.

Euron collected himself, his head darted towards the ship's bow and he grinned, "You are an impressive fighter no doubt, but we will soon see the mettle of your mind."

Boromir raised an eyebrow, "What do you-" but he realized suddenly that the rowers had kept rowing in spite of the battle above, the haze of the smoke around the barge now engulfed the bow of the ship, sweeping back towards them like a wave.

As he breathed in the pungent smoke the world began to shimmer, the other men on the ship seemed to fall away and the blue sky began to turn a strange shade of green before shifting to a color he didn't recognize. Soon he seemed to be alone on a platform floating through a strange space.

"Would you dare to challenge me now?" Euron's voice echoed.

Boromir gritted his teeth, "Come and see pirate!" Out of the strange mists around him walked three Eurons, he blinked a moment in shock, each one wavered slightly, and he blinked in an attempt to focus his eyes.

"What now is there to say son of Numenor? Of the spirited roars of lost warriors songs distant echoes are all that remain…" the three Eurons ran at him. He slashed at the first one, which disappeared into a cloud of smoke as his blade made contact with it's torso. A second cut at him but disappeared as it's blade reached his head, desperately he raised his blade to block the final one and was rewarded with a loud *clang* as the swords made contact. The final Euron laughed and disappeared into the smoke again.

He became aware of a terrible howling, skeletal hands clattered against the side of the boat, scrabbling for purchase. Islands passed them in the fog, burning trees shining through the gloom. He gasped with shock as he realized they were white saplings, idly he realized that armor lay scattered about their burning husks… the armor of Gondorian citadel guards.

"What is this?" he shouted as stars appeared in the sky above, glittering with menace, "In what terrible realm do we now stand?"

Laughter echoed from all directions, "Only those faraway lands that haunt the nightmares of men." Euron appeared again, descending from above carried by a pair of black feathered wings. "We are carried forward by the momentum of other planes…" he smiled, "Let us continue our contest." With that he jumped up and flew forward, carried by fell winds. Their swords met again, over and over as he desperately blocked the attacks from his flying foe. Euron soared away and beyond his vision again, laughing all the while.

 _This is some illusion,_ he thought, _Nothing more than a trick..._

"Is it?" Greyjoy's voice called, "An illusion I mean…" the grinning form of the Corsair lord appeared out of the smoke, his eyepatch was gone now, revealing a jet black eye that somehow glowed with a terrible malice. "You've done much better here than a man like you has any right to. I'd like to propose one final game." Boromir ran at him and swung his sword in what should have been a decapitating blow, but he simply disappeared again.

He sighed angrily, "Fine then," he watched the stars swirl around the empty ship he now rode, "What game do you propose?"

"A riddle seems fair enough," the voice called.

"I agree then," Boromir shouted, "reveal yourself!"

The clacking of the dead arms on the hull of the ship ceased, stormclouds gathered overhead and great waterspouts touched down all across the horizon. There was a rumbling noise and numerous tentacles burst out of the starry skies, thunder cracked as two more phantasms of Euron Greyjoy appeared on the deck of his ship.

"As you know by now we may yet strike at one another even here," the left one said.

"But mere shadows will dissipate when struck," the right finished. The two Euron's walked towards him, each taking one side. "The real me will tell you only truths," one said with a smile.

"While the phantom will tell you only lies," the other finished, leveling it's sword at him.

 _What madness is this?_ "I will strike you down in any case!"

The Euron's chuckled in unison, "Ask a question, son of the steward, it is your only hope."

"Fine," he growled, "which of you is the real Euron?" the two of them just grinned at that.

"It's me!" the both said in unison. While they were speaking he slashed at the one on his left and saw it disappear into the smoke with dismay. He tried to turn but wasn't quite quick enough to complete his block. He felt a hot searing pain as Euron's sword traced across his shoulder, causing him to cry out angrily.

The real Euron stepped back into the smoke again and immediately returned with another copy of himself, _Not this again,_ he thought, "Face me like a man Greyjoy! No more of these tricks!"

"If you cannot solve such a simple riddle I'm afraid you would have been no good to the Steward anyway… An army needs plenty of dumb brutes to be sure, but it doesn't need one for a captian."

That angered him, and he grimaced angrily as the two Eurons slowly advanced towards him, _I cannot block both attacks,_ he thought frantically, _one will tell only truths, the other only lies._ He slowly walked backwards as they advanced, _What question could I ask…_ Suddenly it dawned on him.

"If I were to ask your counterpart which of you was the real Euron, what would he say?"

They smiled together, "He would say it is him," the one on the right said, jerking his thumb towards the other figure, who now walked towards him.

"And he would say it is me!" the left Euron said. Suddenly the two of them ran forward cackling madly. Closing his eyes Boromir struck wildly to his right.

He opened them again when a scream rang out, the Euron to his left had disappeared, the one on his right one now clutched the bleeding stump where his right hand used to be, the severed appendage falling to the deck, still holding a sword.

"You bastard!" Euron screamed, "You son of a bitch!" Boromir moved forward to finish him off but Euron leapt backwards over the deck railing and into the starry seas. As he disappeared things began to come back into focus, though the smoke continued to cloud some of his senses. He realized that he was not alone at all, but on a deck with dozens of other men, and he saw that their ship was now closing in on the smoldering barge. There was a crashing sound as the ram impacted it.

Suddenly realizing where he was again Boromir called out to the oarsmen, "Reverse!" as wood splintered and creaked the great ram pulled free of the barge. Even though his senses were still clouded and strange colors still flew overhead he could make out the sinking form of the enemy ship. _Whatever this is, it dies with that barge._

He breathed out a moment and looked over his deck, it didn't seem to be as flat as it should be, but he could see that naught but his own men still stood upon it. He felt his head beginning to swim. _The smoke,_ he realized, _I've breathed too much of it…_ still a smile formed on his face, _when the barge sinks our fleets will join, my part in this battle is over._ He closed his eyes and staggered backwards. He felt the solid wood of the upper deck against him and slumped downwards, still grinning. _Things will be decided by other swords now._ With that thought a fitful sleep took him.

 **A/N: And thus Euron learned that in Middle Earth the good guys always win at riddle games.**

 **L'etranger0 - Well it's already known on a couple of sites as "Hear Me Roar" so I think I'll stick with the current title.**

 **Hotrod333 - I'd originally tried to write Forlong with a Scottish accent but I couldn't keep it consistent so I just decided to leave to the imagination**

 **Lukas0908 - I haven't played Lotr Online, I've consulted a few of it's maps and such while writing this though.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Nah Forlong's not a spy, he's a minor character from Return of the King who was one of the lords who came to help Minas Tirith before Pellennor Fields. As for the legal status of the Westerlands if you recall it's been troubling Tywin for some time. True the rest of the kingdom is gone, but at the same time he's not the sort to disinherit his grandkids unless his hand is forced.**


	70. DC79 II: Cerenna Lannister

**A/N: This is another chapter starring Cerenna Lannister written by DC79 of Spacebattles.**

 **Cerenna Lannister**

The last few weeks had left Cerenna in the grip of a tension that was worsened almost every few days by some horrible news. The night after she met the Prince, there was the calling of the banners to the Golden Tooth. Ser Jaime had possibly been murdered in Gondor. Cerenna suspected Mordor behind it all, but had no evidence to back up any protest she might make. Just Akallabeth- the tale of how Sauron deceived his greatest enemies into forsaking their gods for the worship of his master. All the while, they knew exactly who and what he was but they still heeded his poisonous words.

The tension over the possibility of war also worsened the nightmares she still had: of dragons that could swallow Balerion the Dread whole, of "were" wolves, possessing a terrible cunning. Balrogs,vampires, trolls, orcs, and most terrifying of all, the Nine. And so she had awoken after one particularly intense nightmare, where a shapeless mass that emboied all of these terrors surrounded her, vague arms, legs, and maws shooting out at her, tearing her to pieces a single chunk at a time. She had awoken Another night's sleep interrupted by ancient terrors few in her homeland would believe in.

 _Damnit, the pursuit of knowledge wasn't supposed to leave me in the grip of such fear! It's supposed to reassure and allow one to prepare._

Then, weeks later, a new raven confirmed her suspicions: Sauron was behind it all, and now Lord Tywin's host marched to Minas Tirith to assist in an impending battle with the forces of Mordor. There was now talk of sacking Minas Morgul, the Mordorian city closest to Gondor. The pride of the Westerlands had been wounded in this attack, and Lannister blood had been nearly spilled. Knights who remained in Casterly Rock spoke eagerly of Mordor's doom to come. She humored them as best she could.

She had actually tried to warn her father, but instead was met with a weary rant that included mention of how he seemed destined to give the talk of how there were no grumpkins and snarks twice after all even though Myrielle had never feared them. He made sure to grumble about this unseen "Dark Lord" who never left his homeland, and wondered how many had born the title since his so-called "return."

So much for that.

The long weeks that followed still offered no news of Daven. One brighter moment came when she had gone to see Septon Archer in Cozy Sept(his sept- so -named because it once been the personal Sept for a Lannister King who wished to worship in private, hence its tiny capacity) and arrived right before a scullery maid of the Rock arrived with her husband with their new child. Septon Archer had performed the naming ceremony, and they expressed a wish for Archer to choose a name. Cerenna had spoken up, and asked if she could suggest a name for their son if it was alright with them. The young couple had agreed(honored as they had been when Cerenna arrived, and she had asked if she could bear witness). She offered the name "Beren." She told a very brief version of the tale of Beren and Luthien, explaining that it was a good name if one wanted a child who would travel to the ends of the world for those he loved.

"There are others who might this it blasphemous that you would suggest that in the walls of a Sept," Septon Archer had said afterwards, amused.

"Well, what say you?"

"That the Star never lays out such strict laws in regards to naming- no matter what others might tell you." He had been inserting such ominous warnings more than once in any given conversation for weeks now.

The last news: the day of the battle with Mordor was met with news of an attack on the Banefort. Cerenna learned that Prince Eomer had rallied Lord Banefort and Lord Westerling's forces and allowed for a retreat that saved many lives, and the word had come that they were headed south, even now. Cerenna was certain her parents were hiding something, because they were both there to deliver the news to the two of them. Whatever it was, they seemed ready to tell, but they decided against it.

Her cousin Joffrey's title was spoken no more; she was surprised few could manage to speak his name with launching a stream of spittle. Herself included. She had cared so little for her cousin that she had almost forgotten of his "illness" and was content to push him out of her mind

She recalled her conversation with Myrielle that first night in the spring, that last night before the world had gone mad after she had met the prince:

Myrielle had indeed teased her; less so much for her momentary fawning over the Prince than how out of character it was for her. A few of their ladies in waiting had been present and asked for details as well. _This must be what it was like in many a keep across Westeros before Rhaegar Targaryen took a wife,_ Cerenna thought. With a Lannister descendant on the Iron Throne their House was likely out of the Royal marriage game for at least two generations, and such talk among the ladies had begun anew after adjusting to the Arrival.

"What is there to tell? He was kind enough. He seemed troubled by events in his homeland, saying that we are right to have a force at the ready. And we talked about dragons."

"Oooh, Middle Earth has _dragons_?" Menelda Lannister asked. She was wife to her cousin Lucion, and she was almost as much a martial thinker as her towering bear of a husband. Doubtless she was already fantasizing about the glory her husband could attain if he were to kill one of his own.

"Once. As large as Balerion the Dread. Some many times even larger than that. But many were killed by but Men in single combat. Their lust for gold was legendary- and they would happily tell you so before reducing you to a charred husk."

"Wait, wait," Thomasina Hawthorne interjected. "They could _speak_?

"Indeed they could. So they were smarter and grander in size than the Targaryen's monsters, but all the same were no match for the Men of Middle Earth." Cerenna was enjoying holding court like this. "Prince Eomer's ancestor Fram also slew one of his own. The great worm Scatha stole the treasure from... other men-" she simplified this so as not to slow down the story with an explanation for what Dwarves of Middle Earth were-"-and took his treasure and his teeth for himself."

"Oh, imagine that," Thomasina sighed. "Wedding the prince and cutting your cake with a dragon's tooth." Myrielle burst into laughter at this silly image.

"That's the not the 'big spike' that my sister is really interested in," she interjected. And she quickly dodged the cushion thrown at her, despite the laughter from some of the other ladies. "You're changing the subject with all of this dragon talk. We wish to know why you were so besotted," Myrielle explained.

"So many men and so many opportunities have come and gone for you. What about Lord Lydden's son?" asked Menelda. "As tall and beautiful as any a man has walked in our halls, and you couldn't stand him after you spoke with him."

"He bored me a bit. And when he didn't notice this, I found him even duller. And as my boredom grew, so did my irritation. It would have been a loveless marriage on my end, but he would have more than enough love for himself."

"So why this one?" her sister asked, regarding her strangely.

"Middle Earth has seen many great men, Myrielle," Cerenna had explained. And her tone suggested she was speaking to a sister who was younger by a great many years rather than one. "They have accomplished feats far greater than those even in the Age of Heroes. I suddenly felt as if I was standing in the presence of one of them. They have weathered many a hardship, so such men must be commonplace. I could not help but be...awed."

"So you instantly knew that this was some hero like form the old stories?" Thomasina asked. _Not quite_ , Cerenna admitted to herself. The red haired girl's eyes were wide- she had an ear for such gossip, but never indulged it out of malice. She was always dying to hear what she could and bursting to share what she was told.

"I...thought there was a chance. So I decided to find out." But then, Myrielle spoke:

"Speaking of stories- as we speak of Lann the Clever they will speak in generations to come of Cerenna the Enflamed, who could walk naked in the winter, kept warm by her heat for the Prince of Rohan between her legs!" All of the ladies gasped, but after a moment, a few erupted into laughter.

Myrielle always had a comeback.

The final news came two days after the attack on the Banefort: the Battle of Osgiliath had only been a partial victory. The Westerlands and Gondorian forces had prevented Mordor from taking the Western half but it was far from the victory the Westermen had expected. Any bards who sought to add a verse to "The Rains of Castamere" were sorely disappointed. A part of her had wanted to believe this could truly turn the tide, that it would be possible if only a portion of the history she had read wasn't true.

The sun was hovering just over the sea, and for the first time in weeks her nerves were calm enough to simply lounge in her chambers after a bath and read herself to sleep. And of course, that's not what happened. She was summoned to Lady Genna's solar instead of her fathers, but found her parents, Stafford Lannister and Myranda Lefford, waiting there with her aunt.

And Stafford explained what was in Lord Tywin's letter. What he told of the Lord of the Nazgul, what he himself had seen firsthand. Cerenna knew then that they were ready to listen.

"Tell me everything you know, and this time, I promise I will not scoff at you," Stafford promised.

"Treat us, just for tonight, as a Maester would an eager student," Genna had explained.

By the end, she had to request tea with lemon juice to sooth her sore throat. She gave the briefest summary of the First Age. By the end, the look of horror on her mother's face was unmistakable. Stafford's jaw was clenched. Genna's face was still impassive.

When she explained how Sauron had quailed before the great host of Numenor, all three of her elders looked unsettled. Lord Tywin's letter had explained how he feared Sauron could not be intimidated. But to know how far Middle Earth had fallen in comparison to the Second Age was to know it was once possible. But now Sauron laughed at the West.

She explained that there were names she had trouble keeping straight, but pointing on a map of Middle Earth to the North she explained that great kingdoms had once existed in vast swaths of it that were now largely empty.

Stafford finally pointed out that she had not personally spoken with any of these elves who had seen the First Age or even the years before.

"Whatever Sauron and his servants are, there _has_ to be some small amount of embellishment." And the discomfort on his face when meeting his daughter's unwavering gaze proved to Cerenna he was trying to convince himself more than her.

"You head the Music, the day of the Arrival. All of you did." After that, Aunt Genna thanked her for her time and politely dismissed her. Shortly after returning to her chambers a servant delivered her favorite dessert, a blueberry cobbler with oatmeal crisp, garnished with cinnamon and sweet cream, compliments of Lady Genna. She thanked him, shut the door, and devoured the whole thing in minutes. Minutes after that she was sound asleep. Despite that ancient childhood fear to add to others, that of the shock of seeing your parents frightened and vulnerable, she slept soundly that night. Perhaps it was because she now shared the burden of this knowledge.

So there. She had volumes of information, but no solutions. She almost feared to talk to her parents and Aunt Genna for fear of seeing any hints of despair. When she did, she forcefully steered conversations away from the war.

She did notice one change: Myranda started joining her when she prayed in Cozy Sept after that. They prayed for Daven as well, still- hopefully- exploring the wilderness. _There are no ravens in the Northern wastes_ became a litany spoken as fervently as any a Brother or Sister of the Faith would speak in the pulpit.

One could not survive on Faith alone. Some measure of joy had to be allowed into daily life. But it was Myrielle who realized this first.

Needing a day out, Cerenna and Myrielle visited one of the less bustling merchant districts in Lannisport- meaning at its peak it still teemed with life. So Cerenna had allowed Myrielle for a shopping trip, citing the new wonders from Middle Earth that doubtless awaited them. Down they went, from the rocky confines of Casterly Rock, to the midst of the smell of the sea in Lannisport.

Four Red Cloaks and Naethan accompanied them. Two of them were new; Errigan and Delmer. But Rollin and Bonifer were capable veterans. Myrielle had taken the reins on the her mare, Lecia, that they shared into the city, and now Naethan guided both his steed and theirs on foot, the Red Cloaks clopping right behind. A parcel of fine silks was already strapped to Lecia's saddle.

Cerenna had been in a mood: she was prepared to humor her sister but Myrielle had also insisted on dressing even more finely than usual; both of their long hair spun and woven. Cerenna's darker blonde mane woven into a braided updo with two curls left to frame her face, while Myrielle favored a carefully woven floral hair band for her lighter shade of blond. Her own dress was chosen to match this, for it was a standard Lannister red, but with dozens of imprints depicting flower petals sewn into the shoulders and upper body. It gave the appearance that the petals from the weave were falling onto her dress. Cerenna had elected for a dark blue brocade gown, but it was covered with smaller depictions of lions, lionesses, and cubs.

"It doesn't seem right, us down here trying to forget our cares by spending coin," Cerenna said. Joffrey's march continued unabated, but he was still weeks away, based on what she'd heard.

"Oh, that's exactly why we're here," Myrielle explained. "The people are frightened. Let them see us shopping without a care in the world. And it helps that we're not walking the streets looking disheveled and frayed."

"I'm sure it would never occur to them that we're doing this for appearances," Cerenna scoffed. She didn't bother to challenge the sincerity of why Myrielle had come on this shopping trip. The City Watch, and Red Cloaks were already preparing for the coming attack; but the random weaving patterns across and around the city they took in doing their duty seemed to take them elsewhere; they seemed sparser in this merchant's district today.

"On that subject- Naethan, be sure to smile a bit," Myrielle said over her shoulder. "Every little bit helps."

Naethan's mannerisms and speech was different around any but Cerenna. He was never terse to his Lords and Ladies, but simply to the point. Most appreciated how little of their time he demanded in their interactions, and they rarely saw the avuncular affection he held for Cerenna. Certainly Myrielle rarely did.

"Shall I keep it at all times, my Lady?" he asked quietly.

"No. Just laugh at my jokes. And Cerenna's, if she ever cares to make one," she turned and offered a glance back at their servant "Oh, the burdens I lay at your feet!"

And he did laugh at this. It almost sounded sincere.

"G' day, my ladies!" Came a jolly voice. Cerenna rembered this merchant; certainly it was so hard to forget someone so thin who still earned the description of "jolly." Rupert was his name, and he had promised to be among the first to peddle Gondorian wares for the curious. He had largely delivered on this promise.

"What do you have for us today?" Myrielle asked.

"A fine perfume from the Green Hills in the west of Gondor. Distilled from the Fanya Flowers- they're said to be so blindingly white that dirt and filth cannot take hold of-"

All in the group had heard it, but when Rupert trailed off, everyone looked to see the source of the slowly encroaching bell.

He was coming down the street in their direction, weaving through the few who did not clear a path for him. He appeared to be a Summer Islander, nearly seven spindly feet. He wore a large white sandwich board, and billowing dark blue robes. He fervently rang the bell, but it never overpowered his booming voice.

"Bring out your dead! Bring out your dead! He's coming! The monster is coming! Bring out your dead!"

The board was covered with scrawled verses from the Seven Pointed Star, but scrawled across the top was a single warning:  
 _The Time of Judgement is coming!_

Even Myrielle was unnerved, as the Red Cloaks and Naethan slowly put themselves between the two ladies and the bell-ringer. But he paid them no heed. He paid heed to none; his message was for the populace at large.

"The monster shouter," Rupert explained, shaking his head, the good humor fading.

"Is that what he calls himself?" Cerenna asked.

"It's what I call him," Rupert said. "Guess with the Arrival a few of those religious folks...overreacted. They've been getting a little more antsy with the word of the attack on the Banefort."

 _No wonder Father insisted on the additional security_ , Cerenna thought. _Would you think some of those Faithful "overreacted" if they knew what I know? And perhaps they've got the right of it._

"Cerenna, smell this," Myrielle cut off her musing. "It's rather lovely."

The Fanya perfume was fine indeed, though she didn't appreciate Myrielle shoving the bottle under her nose.. But she just nodded to confirm she liked it well enough before going back to her thoughts.

"I'll take two bottles," Myrielle said. Cerenna looked around while Myrielle haggled over the perfume, and saw a Begging Brother ministering to a disheveled vagrant in an alley across the street. She had seen more Begging Brothers in the past few visits to the city than she had ever seen in every visit before the Arrival combined. More than a few preached in public, shouting and ranting to any who listened. Again- they drew larger crowds every time.

Cerenna turned to see Cerenna had finally paid and poured a drop onto her hand. She rubbed it on Naethan's chest, and he watched impassively.

"There you go, Naethan. The people of Lannisport shall throw petals onto the street when they smell you coming, thinking you a Lady of the Rock."

"I imagine they'll be quite disappointed when I round the corner and they get a look, then," he said, deadpan. Myrielle laughed and pinched his cheek, and Cerenna suppressed a groan. No reaction one could offer to her japes discouraged her- even no reaction at all. Only in the presence of any of the elder Lannisters was she the demure, well-mannered Lady all nobles dreamed of having for a daughter or a wife. But this was the girl who had finally warned to their deformed dwarf of a cousin by trading shit jokes. It had taken Cerenna another year to do the same- she had always feared that black eye of his as an evil marking. Of course it was books over which the two had bonded... Well best not to think of Tyrion now. It seemed he would face his father's wrath, but weeks ago ravens were sent to all Lords notifying them of his fugitive status. There were fewer crimes more accursed by the Seven than kinslaying. but she remembered all of the tales of Sauron's manipulations. If nine great men could fall into darkness so, what chance would an unloved Imp have?

"A present, a gesture of thanks for when your Horselord returns," Myrielle's voice, again cutting into her musings.

"Oh, Myrielle, not now-" And to her surprise, her sister held up a blue, unmarked vial.

"It's an ointment," she said. Cerenna groaned. "No, no, no. It's for horses. It keeps the flies away and it soothes their skin where the little monsters have chewed their ears. It's from Braavos, and the merchants made quite of bit of coin selling to the Dothraki. This is probably the last of its kind in the whole world. And smell it." Cerenna did, and was surprised at how pleasant it smelled despite its purported medicinal properties.

"That- that's actually a rather nice gift," Cerenna admitted, reluctantly taking it and placing it in a pocket in her dress.

"Did you think I was going to embarrass you?" Myrielle asked wryly. She laughed merrily at the arch of her sister's eyebrow.

"When have I ever japed you so in public, in front of our subjects, no less?"

"Never," Cerenna admitted reluctantly, but with a smile. She did keep all of her more cutting japes behind closed doors, after all.

"Well, then pay me back later," Myrielle replied. Then they noticed the crowds were parting in their direction.

There were seven men on horses advancing down the street in their direction, forcing all in their way to clear a path. There seemed to be no common link in their dress, but all wore symbols of the faith- prisms, Seven Pointed Stars. One's medallion of the Star was hastily carved out of a piece of oak. They all appeared to be armed with whatever weapons a peasant would find lying around the house- a scythe, a hatchet. There were a few with swords, but Cerenna noted one didn't even match its scabbard and didn't go all the way in. But their leader was different. He wore finer clothes, but they seemed hastily tailored, with drab colors and a rainbow embroidered on its chest.

It took her a second to recognize him- the Lannister good looks that still held that gormless quality, for Lancel Lannister had shorn his golden mane and tattooed the Seven Pointed Star on his forehead.

"Good day, cousins," Lancel nodded to Cerenna and Myrielle. "I didn't expect to see you out today, with the dark news coming from the north."

"What in the name of the Seven did you do to yourself, Lancel?" Myrielle demanded. "And who are these rabble?"

"Concerned Faithful," he explained. "These Poor Fellows have taken up arms in the name of the Seven. The wages of sin are at our doorstep and we could not stand idly by and do nothing."

A cold, swooping feeling had clenched Cerenna's stomach at two words. Poor Fellows. She remembered Septon Archer's words, warning her of the rumors of a new Faith Militant. She had thought such a thing could not occur in Lannisport, with the Westerlands now cut off from the High Septon and the Most Devout. But now she realized- wherever there was the Faith, there was the seed for this poisonous tree to grow.

"What wages of sin are you referring to?" Cerenna asked, forcing every bit of calm into her voice she could muster.

"The so-called 'glory' of House Lannister is built upon the murder of babes. Of women. Acts of brutality and treachery have been met with prosperity for far too long, and so the Seven saw fit to wrench House Lannister from the Seven Kingdoms. We are to face judgement in a world that will see the End of Days lest the Faith rise to the challenge."

"And even now, you whores spend that ill gotten gold while the demons tear through our lands!" one of the Poor Fellows spouted. And then Cerenna knew they were in danger, for Lancel allowed this insult with barely a notice.

"Cerenna, I would ask that you renounce your allegiance to House Lannister, and join us. I know you keep the Seven, and they call to the Faithful now. Will you heed them?"

"Join you to do what?"

"In expelling the sin of-"

"That's quite enough," Delmer cut in. He marched his steed in front of Naethan and the girls, and drew his blade. "We're going back to the Rock. If you've forsaken your family name, I hold no loyalty to you. I certainly won't allow you to threaten the Ladies. Now, stand aside!"

He quickly turned to the other three Red Cloaks. "Get the Ladies on their horse-" And he was cut off by whoosh over Cerenna's head and a crossbow bolt bursting through his throat. The impact nearly forced him from his horse, but he held the reins long enough to slide off. Even as he grasped at the fountain of crimson at his throat, his horse was startled enough to bolt, dragging Delmer, a foot still secured in a stirrup.

Myrielle screamed, and Cerenna turned in time to see the other two Red Cloaks falling off of a steed in a tumble- Errigan had leaped from his own horse onto Rollin- and it was a tussle, as Naethan attempted to corral Myrielle and Cerenna back to Lecia. Cerenna noted that his crossbow was drawn, marking him as the one who shot Delmer. Bonifer tried to intervene, his attention torn from the girls at this sudden treachery. Instantly the two groups were clashing. And they were pushed aside. Naethan was sent tumbling by a tackle from Errigan, who had dropped his sword in the struggle with Rollin. He hit Naethan in the stomach with the butt of his crossbow, seemingly too afraid to re-load it during the tumult. Cerenna then saw that Rollin lay dead in the street. Myrielle and Cerenna had gotten off of the street, in time for the rush of the five steeds of the Faithful to pass them. Cerenna looked desperately for a way out, but there was no alley that was narrow enough to present a problem for a pursuer on horseback. The nearest door was a tavern, and she desperarely tried to open the door in hopes of escaping through the back, dragging Myrielle with her other hand. But it was locked. Lancel was calling for all present to stop fighting, but his pleas were unheeded. All the while there were cries of shock as the crowds closest to them cleared out; Cerenna was vaguely aware of a chorus of slamming windows and doors.

When the clamor died down, all of their weapons were pointed at Errigan, who had thrown off his helm and held up his arms in surrender. Bonifer lay dead on the cobblestones as well, slain by the Poor Fellows after he killed two of their number. The streets had cleared as the smallfolk had already started to get away from the confrontation even before it went to hell.

"By the Seven, it's a sign! The Warrior guided my hand, brother!" Errigan cried. He raised the crossbow into the air.

"You'll join us?" Lancel asked.

"Your arrival was the omen I had awaited. Yes, I shall cast aside my cloak to stand with the Faith. Praise the Seven!"

"Good," Lancel looked around. The only horse from Cerenna's group that remained was Errigan's. All of their weapons were drawn now, and Naethan looked up; if he had stayed on his feet he would have been killed, but after his fall the Poor Fellows had ignored him in favor of Bonifer.

Lancel signaled for two of the survivors to each take Cerenna and Myrielle, who seemed rooted to where she stood, her eyes wide in shock. Her gaze alternated between every dead body on the scene, not seeing the living it all. Cerenna shook her shoulder, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"Don't run, Myrielle. They're not going to kill us. Just wait. Wait for the right moment," she whispered.

The jug eared man of fifty leered down at Cerenna, offering a calloused hand. Wincing, she took it and got on behind him.

"Hold tightly, my Lady." His voice fairly oozed. She grimaced as he placed her hands around his midsection himself, holding them a moment longer than needed.

Myrielle's captor was more sensible: "Shouldn't we bind them? Does anyone have any rope?" Others in the group shook their heads, and Lancel looked embarrassed for a moment. That was when he looked like the boy Cerenna had known.

"Just keep an eye on them-we have to get out of here before the City Watch sees us!" Lancel exclaimed. "Septon Allwyn will lock them in the basement of his Sept while we carry on our mission. " Cerenna thought the name was vaguely familiar; but Lannisport had dozens of Septs to aid the worship of its bustling populace.

Cerenna turned and took one last desperate look at Naethan, who had already retrieved his fallen sword, but stood impotently in the middle of the street, watching as his charges were taken away.

So what now? Lancel may be thick, but he wasn't going to kidnap them on an open street. This was clearly an accidental encounter, and he would suffer the consequences for it. Unless... _Do they have the numbers to attack the Rock?_ If they don't, it wouldn't stop the Faithful from trying- they'd think their Faith was all they needed. _One heavy book is better than a thousand sellswords if you believe every word of it_. She was distantly surprised at the blasphemy that could be inferred from this disdain. But that was the thinking that led to this- too often the fanatical dismissed dissent over their own actions as crimes against their Faith.

For a time their path was the one they would normally take back to Casterly Rock. They were approaching mid day, and Cerenna saw more and more of the Poor Fellows, both on horseback and on foot. Whatever they wore or whatever they carried, they were easy enough to recognize, for they always traveled in groups. Whatever Lancel had planned, it seemed set to begin when the sun was at its highest. A larger sept stood at the end of the street, which seemed to be their destination. A small, wiry Septon was already coming through the front door- to hear Lancel talk, this was a detour, but he would be expecting something. Cerenna was somewhat surprised that this was where they had been going; they had most certainly taken the long route. She knew Lancel didn't know the city half as well as she, Myrielle, and Naethan did, but still- any one of them could have gotten here in half the time. And at last she saw that the smallfolk who perhaps kept their ears to the ground ducked out of their way with even more haste than they did the nobility. They, too knew something was about to come to a head-

And something flew and smashed into Errigan's skull, knocking him clear off of his horse even as the group slowed their mounts for a stop. He had foolishly left his helm in the market where he had dropped it, and now he paid the price, a hatchet buried in his skull. It was one of the hatchets one of the Poor Fellows had wielded.

Naethan crossed in front of them, on Myrielle's mare Lecia, cutting them off. The Lannister livery was still untouched, and for a crazy moment she thought it was a warrior of their family as revered as Ser Jaime. But it was just Naethan. Quiet, dependable Naethan who barely spoke of the few days he fought in the Greyjoy Rebellion. He was charging the Septon (the aforementioned Allwyn, no doubt), frozen in shock at this attack and paying the price for it, as Lecia reared up and brought her mighty hooves down on Allwyn's skull, dropping him to the street from which he did not rise again. Naethan furiously turned to face them, his blade at the ready.

"Come on, Lumpy!" Naethan roared. "Let's who the Warrior really favors!"

The other members of the Faith seemed to waver for a moment, looking at Lancel questioningly. But Lancel looked back at the two riders who held Cerenna and Myrielle.

"Hold them. We've lost too much time, so just go back to the original plan. We'll figure something out later. We'll handle this." And Lancel signaled the charge, but they were turned back around and moving again before she saw any of it. She almost looked back before the warning came that steeled her resolve.

"You try to jump and I guarantee you'll get a broken neck. 'Specially if Lancel can't see," said the lecher.

All thoughts went to the single dagger in the ankle sheath she had taken to wearing in past days, resolving never to be completely defenseless against the encroaching terrors. She slipped it from its sheath easily enough. Now for the real test- glancing to her left, she saw Myrielle's wide eyes as she also held onto her captor. She looked either frozen into inaction of on the verge of taking a dangerous leap for freedom.

Warrior, give me strength, she pleaded, and pushed the blade into the man's side. It was the quickest and easiest move. She feared he would see the motion if she tried a more lethal attack. She thought she put force into it, but when she felt the initial pop of the breaking of skin, she had to push harder than she had thought. The lecher gasped, and his thrashing seemed as if he could not decide what to do first- pull the blade out, throw Cerenna off, stop the horse, or to reach back to strike her. As his meaty paw fumbled for her slender white hand, she pulled the knife out and pushed in again, higher still, keeping her arm under his. Of all the days to not wear red, she thought hysterically. Another warm gush over her fingers, and she added her breakfast to the gruesome now-slop ruining her beautiful dress.

She pulled the dagger out, started to topple off the back, but she grabbed onto the hem of the back of his tunic, and with enough distance from him now, brought the dagger into his back, as close to his heart as she possibly could. He went rigid, and Cerenna, so desperate for this to be the end, to not have to drive the knife in again, started to wildly stab with her free hand while digging into the front of his tunic with the other.  
 _Die! Damn you, die!_  
After the first few, his arms finally stopped trying to fight and went limp. When the rest followed, she grabbed onto his shoulders and tried to pull herself up. But her weight threatened to pull him further off- when suddenly, the horse bucked, lurching both of them forward. She reached around the dying man's waist and grabbed the reins. He had kicked one of his feet from the stirrups in the struggle, and when she saw him start to slide off his horse as Delmer had, she gave him a great push, finally forcing him off. Adding a final bit of garnish to the recipe that was this grotesque experience, she heard his skull crack loudly on the cobbled street. The horse managed to keep its stride, but not its speed as it dragged the lecher.

Pulling herself upright with the reins, she took the dagger and cut the strap still holding the man to his steed. Freed at last, she managed to get it calmed down enough to stop. The world finally came back into focus and was once again bigger than the horse she was now astride.

She heard Myrielle scream, and looked ahead and she saw that she had managed to slip off her own captor's horse, tumbling into the street. It wasn't a flying leap- more of a slow slide, and she landed on her arse as the steed slowed down. A far less painful escape than it could have been, but was better than simply falling off the top. Even as the other Poor Fellow tried to turn his steed around to reach for her again, a ferocious gallop bore down upon him.

The blow was perfectly aimed and timed; Naethan's sword took the head of Myrielle's captor in a single swipe. Cerenna guided her horse as best as she could over to her sister, before leaping off and joining her on Myrielle's former captor's stallion, ignoring the headless body's limp drop to the street.

"RIDE!" Naethan screamed. "TO THE LION'S MAW!"

The Lion's Maw was one of the lowest entrances to Casterly Rock in the city and the one nearest to them.

"Myrielle, take the reins!" Cerenna roared. She needed her sister's skill to get back to the Rock, and the sound of her elder's voice snapped Myrielle out of her shock. With a quick "HYAH!" and snap of the reins, they were in motion.

Risking a look back, she saw Lancel and another Poor Fellow trailing behind, catching up- no, three more! They seemed to see their leader and knew they should join him, and ask questions later.

 _Multiple groups converging...whatever they were planning it's starting already._

And a miracle occurred- a peasant pushed his apple cart in front of Lancel's horse. Their cousin didn't react in time, and the horse didn't even come close to clearing it, sending them all crashing to the street. Cerenna saw no more, but thanked the Seven- Lancel had changed his appearance so much that many likely did not realize who he was, so they rushed to defend Cerenna and Myrielle, who were known to them. A few of the riders stopped to see to him, and the others with them slowed enough to give the smallest amount of hope.

Whatever Lancel had been on his way to do was happening now; more riders bearing members of the Faith were starting to emerge onto the street. But with enough of a lead on Lancel, they didn't know that they were supposed to grab the girls. Still, the urgency with which they rode tipped some of them off, and so with less than a half mile to go some of them took the initiative and began a pursuit.

The Lion's Maw, as one could expect, was shaped as a great stone Lion's Head, the portcullis its teeth, with a long arch bridge leading over the ocean to the Rock. A Red Cloak stood on either side of the gate, and Cerenna caught a glimpse of one pacing past the windows that were its eyes. She held her sister tighter, and tried not to yell in her ear as they galloped through:

"Close the gate!" Cerenna cried to the Red Cloaks manning it. All understood, letting the two steeds pass before rushing in and closing it behind them.

It wasn't even close; the mob was too far to have any chance of making it through the portcullis before it closed. A few tried anyway, but Cerenna paid them no heed, as the riders finally slowed their horses. Dozens more of these new Poor Fellows were riding up to the gate.

"Let's get back. I don't want to hear what they're going to be yelling at us," Cerenna said.

She looked over at Naethan, who was pale, and spattered with blood. He had dropped his weapon during the melee, but he seemed steady enough when he gave an affirmative nod. Myrielle, still silent, sent their horse forward with a cry.

 _The first flight was to escape. Now it's to warn them._ She already heard the bells from the Maw; they were a warning to any other gates within earshot to close as well.

There were few servants in the cavern, but many crates and assorted goods that were going to or coming from the city. All rushed to them, as Cerenna called for help. The sisters were dismounted off their late kidnapper's steed in seconds. Myrielle numbly stroked her beloved Lecia as Naethan slowly slid off of her- and the pure white coat was now visibly coated with blood-but it wasn't the mare's. Now Cerenna saw Naethan's other side- a gouge had been rent by a well aimed slash, and blood gushed from his flank. He was white as milk and shaking like a newborn lamb in need of it's mother's own.

She cried for them to fetch a Maester, as she helped him sit down against the nearest wall. She tried to stop the bleeding with the only loose fabric she had on hand- the silk they had bought in the market that was still stored in a pouch on Lecia's livery. But he had lost so much already...

"That's a good horse you got there, Lady Myrielle," Naethan sighed. "After all that mayhem she came right back for me." Myrielle didn't respond or even turn to look at him, but Cerenna saw her nod at this.

"Good thing Lancel was dumb enough to say where he was taking you right in front of me," he sighed.

"Y-you didn't tell us you were hurt," Cerenna exclaimed.

"Lightened the load, they did. Got me here a little faster," Naethan wheezed."But, yeah. Not much to be done down there, so no point in complaining."

"You said once that you only fought for a few days in the Greyjoy Rebellion," Cerenna sobbed.

"T'was a bad few days," Naethan murmured. "But you're safe now. S'alright." He raised a trembling hand to pat hers.

"That's a good lass," he sighed. And with a last shift, as if he were merely getting comfortable for a long nap, he was still.

She recalled Septon Archer's words of consolation after arriving to perform Naethan's last rites. And later, finding her sister in the stables, sitting in the straw, cradling Lecia's sleeping head in her lap like a dog. And then it was her turn to be held, as she sobbed into Cerenna's arms about how horrible she had always been to Naethan. But she had hours more to wait for her own father to offer these words, for the situation with the Faith Militant was worse than she had guessed.

"The rabble calling themselves the new Faith Militant have surrounded the Rock," Stafford explained when he finally had a moment. "The Farmans of Faircastle have declared for Joffrey as well, and some of their fleet is blockading Lannisport. Perhaps we have enough forces within to rush out and break them. But Lancel is our kin, and if there's a chance he can see reason, I would take it. Also, they nearly outnumber the City Watch, and I fear if the Watch slaughtered them it would foment more unrest with the Faith."

"How would Lord Tywin suffer such a betrayal were he here?" was Cerenna's response. The steel in her voice shocked her, but she recalled the rage on Lancel's face as he pursued them. He hadn't ridden with his sword raised that way for show.

"Lancel did what he did because of the Arrival," Stafford said. "Rather extraordinary circumstances, I would say. If you can tell me for certain what the Seven Pointed Star says about what to do when your homeland is taken from one world to another, please, tell me. If not, mayhap we can convince him these actions are in fact counter to the will of the Seven."  
Cerenna had a feeling that Lord Tywin would not be that amenable- this was far from a normal youthful folly. She had heard much talk of her father's competence compared to others in his house, and she realized that some men were

"There isn't even a Night's Watch to send him off to," Cerenna said.

"well, there may not be a Wall to send him to, but I'll have him shoveling the shit in the King of Rohan's stables if I have my way. Of this, we will speak no more. What I came here for was... you didn't quite paint the whole picture when you first came home. Your sister finally calmed enough to tell us that you kept a level head and saved the both of you."

"That man-" But her father knew.

"Shhh. I know. I never dreamed my own daughter would have to kill a man to save herself in the streets of our own city. But you did, and here you are. And your sister's here as well. You made sure Naethan's sacrifice wasn't in vain. As much as I hoped your strength wouldn't be tested so, I am glad you did so well."

Still, sleep would not come that night. Every time it seemed about to take her, she remembered the pop of the blade sinking into the lecher's side.

It was during the last summons to their father's solar that they received some good news at last. Cerenna momentarily feared the worst when she saw that their Aunt Genna was there, again with both of their parents. Steeling herself, she took a seat.

"I asked one last favor of prince Eomer," Genna explained. "To bring our forces that ride with him to our aid to bring this siege to an end. Even now, Joffrey's forces continue south. Prince Eomer's forces alone do not have the strength to meet him, so it is our hope that if he relieves this situation with the Faith, our combined forces will be able to end this when combined with the host Ser Jaime leads from Minas Tirith.

"We have also received a raven from Edoras," Stafford explained. "It is your brother. He is alive and well. His true mission was to retrieve Joffrey, and he tracked him into the wild north and pursued even after he took in with the goblins. Prince Theodred of Rohan was slain in a battle with Joffrey's forces after saving his life." His features hardened. "He stays in Edoras now to pay his debt to the fallen Prince."

Both of the sisters shared overjoyed expressions, and both Ser Stafford and Myranda allowed a measure of relief to come over their expressions. Cerenna realized they had known of this search, and had feared the worst upon hearing that Joffrey now led the goblins- if Daven showed half the skill at tracking they knew he possessed, he doubtless encountered this army. But he was alive.

"Lord Tywin sought an alliance in marriage when Prince Eomer first visited. He had hoped to gain leverage for such a negotiation by sending a few thousand men to support Prince Eomer's removal of a corrupt offical who held the ear of the King. They were on their way to perform this task when the goblins invaded. Now, he has saved many, led our forces in Lord Tywin's absence, and I have sent him a raven requesting his assistance with the Faith Militant. The heir to the throne has fallen at the hands of our kin, leaving him next in line for the throne. We pay our debts, and securing the peace in Rohan and his House's future will go a long way to paying them."

"So the possibility of House Lannister marrying into the House of Eorl is still on the table. But now, it will be as a reward rather than a price. We can give him gold, assistance on the field of battle. We can send men into Rohan to begin training peasant levies. But now it is vital that he has an heir. So a beautiful and loyal wife to provide healthy heirs is also something he could ask of us."

"It would be tasteless of us to ask for a betrothal, now," Stafford explained. "Now it will be offered as a reward, and we will gladly respect his wishes if he declines. But if that is what he desires, either one of you may be returning to Rohan with him within a moon's turn, if not following shortly thereafter."

Given the trauma of the last few days Cerenna was little surprised to see Myrielle not give her sister one of her trademark knowing looks.

"I would be honored to do my part for House Lannister," Myrielle said, casting her eyes to the floor.

"As would I," Cerenna said.

The walk back to their chambers was almost entirely silent until Myrielle spoke again.

"I never thought it possible that I could be a Queen," Myrielle said somberly. "And all that had to happen was for one of our family to go mad and murder a Prince." Cerenna was not surprised at the bitterness of her tone. For all of her irreverence, her family loyalty was unquestionable. To be so related to such a monster whose deeds will be cursed across many lands was not something either of them were pleased by.

But she thought back to the Prince. Two princes, actually:

Rhaegar Targaryen was the gleaming ideal. The Ladies of the Seven Kingdoms all swooned for him and dreamed of becoming his wife. His beauty, his manner, his skill with a harp... and he had shamed his wife, kidnapped the daughter of a Lord Paramount, and started a war that led to the downfall of his house. That was the truth that lay behind the fantasy, and it was a lesson she had heeded well. She would have to take what joy she could in her eventual marriage, but she was certain that the most she could hope for was respect and a kind heart. All of this cynicism vanished the moment she met Eomer.

This is a different world. She remembered again how utterly immune she was to the charms of Lord Lydden's heir. _Did I fall in love with the Prince at first sight?_ Cerenna wondered. _In an instant, did I make myself a hypocrite?_ She had... vivid dreams that first night, but she had never considered herself one whose decisions could be clouded by her passions. But as surely as different stars light up this world's new night sky, perhaps the human heart operates under different laws here as well. Maybe it is possible to know in an instant what two hearts hold.

 _I will speak with him again,_ she thought. _Then I will know_. But whatever happened, whatever her feelings towards the man himself, she felt humbled by what he had done for her people. Surely, he was cut off from his homeland by this attack. But there were any number of other ways back- through the mountains, or by ship. Where he was now was far from the easy way out.

"Hm. So I'm expected to charm the Prince as you have," Myrielle said at last, breaking her musings. She turned to her sister solemnly. "I promise to break wind in his presence. Loudly and often."

And for the first time in days, both sisters laughed. They desperately needed it. But that thought remained:

 _What can I do for the people of Middle Earth?_

And when an idea finally came to her, she went to her father immediately. Trapped as the Lannisters were, the Rock was still teeming with activity and she had to wait an hour outside of his chambers before he could spare a moment. So she wasted no time.

"Father, how much gold can truly be spared for my allowance?" Cerenna asked. She had never thought much of spending her family's coin, but she had never pushed it, either.

"The war may be a long one," he sighed. "I haven't added up all of the numbers yet, but it will be less than it would have been in peacetime. Especially with the nature of the enemy and."

"That's why I'm asking: I want to send all I can to Gondor. All of mine I can spare. And I want to set up a donation fund for any and all who can spare a Dragon or two to help with the war effort. The kingdoms beyond are grand, but they are far from rich. They've spent decades, centuries, fighting this war. Any dragon that could be spared that would be spent on frivolities otherwise must go to the war. I want to set an example. Lord Tywin will commit his gold to the cause, but he won't beggar the Rock and empty the mines to do so. To bankrupt ourselves would be folly. So there will be more that can be sent, and I want to see to it."

"There is the matter of the siege. I presume you mean to begin when the situation is resolved?" Stafford inquired.

"Of course. When Prince Eomer arrives, whatever reward might be granted I want him to see that he has set an example in the Westerlands. I want Lion ships bearing this news to Dol Amroth, Pelagir, The Green Hills, Lossarnach- distant though they are and sparsely populated compared to Minas Tirith, they will know that the people of the Westerlands as a whole stand with them, not just House Lannister."

"I think it can be done easily enough," Ser Stafford said after a moment's consideration. "I will speak with Lady Genna. And appropriate inquiries will be sent by raven." And he dismissed her almost as quickly as Lord Tywin would. Current events demanded so much of his time.

To Myrielle's credit, she quickly agreed. A lot of jewelry had been accumulated by their ancestors, and they decided which ones to keep for sentimental reasons, and which to add to the first of many chests to be sent across the new Realm. Despite her love of the fine clothes befitting her status, she gladly gave up many dresses and gowns. Maybe they won't be worn, but they can be cut into blankets, bedding, simpler clothes.

Next, came the collection. She pulled aside a young page and told him to go wherever he could and ask if any and all who would spare him a moment if they could likewise spare any coin. An occasional Gold Dragon was preferred, but any Silver Stags and Copper Stars would also be one of Lord Tywin's less pressing tasks while in Minas Tirith was to negotiate an exchange rate for Westerosi currency against the Gondorian Castar, so there wouldn't even be the problem of having to melt it down to really make use of it.

The least educated side rarely won a war, so she looked to her own libraries. She was stingy for a moment, but only for a moment. The first she tossed in was _Glory Before the Ashes: the Rise and Fall of the Valyrian Freehold_. She was hesitant to part with _A Debt Paid_ , which detailed the earliest recorded civil war in the Westerlands. _But their recorded history goes back to the Creation. They should have a little of our own early history_. So in the trunk it went. _Before the Dragons, Kin of the Stag, Watchers on the Wall_ ,- all went in.

There were logistics that would have to be taken care of when the siege was over and Joffrey defeated; grain was as much a currency in Rohan as any minted coin in Gondor and the Westerlands. Where to buy it from and how to get it to Rohan was a matter to be settled later. But she could complete every step up until then.

She decided now was the time to begin corresponding by raven, as well. Beyond Rohan, Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth had been the obvious first choices to establish a ravenry. But there were enough settlements who were supposed to get them soon enough. After she wrote to Daven, she would write to the other Lords of Gondor, and ask if there was anything she was willing to part with that they desired. It was entirely possible that there were goods that came cheap in the Westerlands that would be incredibly valuable in the new lands beyond. Even simple gifts that would be harder to trade for Castars would help toward these ends. Every reminder of the friendship between kingdoms would help. The elves likely couldn't be bought, and the dwarven kingdoms were distant (and probably would be more expensive than her collection could afford- it would have to be from Lord Tywin's coffers if they tried that). But the Men of Middle-Earth would know.

The only barrier to starting all of this was the mass that called itself an army for the Faith. And then Joffrey's frothing hordes, hot on Prince Eomer's heels.

 _Hurry, Prince Eomer. There's so much I have to do._

 ** _AN: whereas the last chapter I wrote was about religion, the overriding theme of this one is inspiration. Selfless acts inspiring others to do what they can in turn, even with limited means. This fic is largely about the villains of ASOIAF and the possibility of redemption. I illustrate this here by showing that even those who could sit back and wait out the war are moved to action. Cerenna has every right (and as a woman, is largely expected to) to simply keep her head down and wait for things to play out, but she can't, not with people like Eomer setting such an example. This is what is doubtless happening elsewhere in this story on a macro scale. And in a world where the "gods" play more of a direct role in the shaping of the world and its people, perhaps it is truly possible for two people who barely know each other to quickly fall in a sincere kind of love and not just the foolish kind that led so many throughout Westerosi history to ruin._**

 **A/N: The above is DC79's author's note which I felt was a good inclusion as an explanation of his chapter because it sums up most of what I like about it. Also to anyone wondering I thought it was more clear but Boromir is not dead he's just passed out and likely to wake up with one hell of a hangover. Also Pyromaniac101 has informed that I'm using the wrong terminology, I'd thought any chapter written by someone else was an "omake" so I'm just going to title DC79's chapters with his penname from here on out. Sorry to anyone that was confused. Now let me respond to a few reviews.**

 **GremlinJack & Slytherhiss - The riddle is actually one of the more famous logic puzzles, traditionally your goal is not to determine the truth teller and the liar, but rather which path leads to safety. There's also a bit of a twist here in that instead of a limit to one question like in the original riddle here Boromir gets seemingly unlimited questions but Euron is trying to kill him as he asks them.**

 **Ruci - During the rebellion Tywin, Stannis, and Barristan Selmy invaded the outer islands while Robert and Eddard invaded Pyke, it was my thought that Euron would likely be commanding the defense of one of the outer islands rather than the capital so he probably wouldn't have directly fought Eddard in the rebellion. Of course that whole war is a bit of a footnote so who knows?**


	71. LXIX The Hound

**LXIX**

 **The Hound**

He'd been in Rivendell at least a week. Clegane had meant to begin his return journey to the Shire several times, but his intent never seemed to manifest itself into any real action. He mused on the thought again as he sat drinking in the hall of Rivendell with Gimli, son of Gloin. Though the two had been at each other's throats more than once by now, over slights real and imagined, the simple fact was that they were usually the only ones drinking in the middle of the day. The four hobbits usually found their own merriment and Gimli's father spending much of his time with Bilbo or Gandalf, he had no idea where Aragorn had gone to. Still they managed to get along well enough, probably because both were quite literally in high spirits most of the time.

"I don't know if you heard Clegane," Gimli said, pouring himself another ale, "but a number of elves arrived today."

Clegane frowned as he stared into his own cup, "Seems to me this is a place where elves live, who else would be coming here?"

" _Mirkwood_ elves," Gimli clarified, "One of them is the prince, the woodland king's son himself."

"A prince you say?" Clegane mused, "Spoiled little shit then?"

Gimli shrugged, "All I know is there's some manner of Elven mischief afoot, Thranduil has no friends, only interests. I'm only warning you so you know to keep an eye out."

"So what did he do to piss you off?" Clegane asked with a smile, "did Thranduil put something on a high shelf?"

Gimli glared at him, "One of these days you and I are going to stop having words and start having fists." The dwarf set his mug on the table and leaned in closer, "When my people were at their darkest hour, when Smaug the dragon had taken our gold and thrown us from our home, King Thranduil turned his back on us."

Clegane considered this, "So he's a bit of an ass, but that's hardly the worst he could've done."

Anger crept into Gimli's voice now, "And it's not all he did. My father and the companions of Thorin Oakenshield, one of the finest dwarves to ever live, endeavored to slay the dragon… Thranduil imprisoned them when they entered his realm. They escaped of course," a brief smile came across Gimli's face, "no cell can hold a determined dwarf." His face darkened again as he continued, "But he was not fit to do only that, when word came of the dragon's passing he marched out of Mirkwood with an army to take our gold! He would've killed my father and everyone there if not for the goblins… Dain claims friendship with him but I see through the elf's lies!"

 _He sounds like a right cunt, but who knows how true the dwarf's tale is?_ Clegane thought.

"If this elven prince says or does anything suspicious I'll be sure to let you know," Clegane said before taking a drink.

It was not long after that that a new figure entered the hall. He was a tall man with dark hair and grey eyes set in a fair and noble face. His gait reminded Clegane of Strider, or Aragorn rather, though the man wore a stained red cloak that he was fairly certain belonged to the Lannister's personal guard. He walked to the cupboard and, after selecting one of the larger mugs, walked directly to their table and sat down.

"Greetings friends," he said, "Might I share in your drink?"

His eyes met Gimli's, hesitantly the dwarf spoke, "It's Lord Elrond's drink, so I see no reason not to share and share alike…" the dwarf grabbed the pitcher and poured the newcomer a cup of ale, "Might we perhaps trouble you for your name stranger?"

The man chuckled, "Certainly, I am Faramir, captain of the Rangers of Ithilien and son of Denethor, the Steward of the Throne of Gondor."

Clegane's eyebrows raised, "Another princeling? Elrond's hospitality is generous but not _that_ generous, what brings you here?"

Faramir smiled, "It might sound hard to believe, but I was guided here by strange dreams and riddles. Now that I've given my name might you do the same?"

"Magic dreams aren't so hard to believe anymore," he muttered, "the name is Sandor Clegane." He thought a moment, "If you're looking for titles I'm afraid I've got none," he paused, "Actually, I suppose I'm a Shirriff of the Shire. I was also in the Kingsguard of King Joffrey Baratheon of the Seven Kingdoms… but those oaths have probably lapsed."

"And I'm Gimli, son of Gloin," the dwarf piped in, "of Durin's folk in Erebor."

Faramir took a long drink before wiping the froth from his face, "Erebor and the Westerlands are both at least as far from Rivendell as Minas Tirith, what brings you two so far afield?"

"Official Shire-Shirriff business," Clegane said flatly, glaring at Faramir.

Gimli was a bit more open, "In Erebor we have received a message from the dark lord himself, I come to bear news of his demands." Seeing Clegane's disapproving look he scowled, "He wouldn't be here if Elrond didn't think he was trustworthy."

"If Elrond thinks he needs to know why I'm here then Elrond can tell him," he replied, his arms crossed.

Faramir just smiled, "Well Lord Elrond has called for a council later this afternoon, perhaps I'll ask him then."

"A council you say?" Gimli asked, "And when will Clegane and I receive summons?"

Faramir shrugged, "I cannot say, but when the bell tolls we are to convene in the amphitheater. I know the dwarf Gloin was invited to attend."

"Well if my father's going I'm going," Gimli declared. He looked at Clegane, "You're the only one here from the Westerlands, you ought to go too."

"Me?" Clegane asked with a chuckle, "I'm not even a knight, I can't bind anyone in the Westerlands to anything."

"Then you can bloody well come as my guest," Gimli retorted, "You're an asshole to be sure, but you seem a solid sort, and we'll need all the solid sorts we can get once the elves start speaking with their silver tongues!"

Clegane rolled his eyes, "Fine then, I wasn't doing anything this afternoon anyways."

"I guess we'll all be there then," Faramir said with a smile, "I've been on the road too long, let's save our concerns and troubles for the Council of Elrond, pour me another drink!"

The three of them sat and drank, discussing their choice brews, weapons, and the benefits of wearing heavier armor. Both he and the dwarf were of the opinion that solid plate was preferable, but the ranger argued for light leather. Though they'd all agreed to discuss lighter matters until the council Faramir eventually told them of how he'd snuck from Minas Tirith disguised as one of Cersei's redguards, and of his betrothal to the queen mother.

Upon hearing the news Clegane felt compelled to ask, "Faramir," he began, he paused, unsure of how to continue, "how much time have you spent with lady Cersei exactly?"

"Little admittedly," Faramir replied, "Though I still intend to honor my vows to her."

 _Too honorable by half this one,_ he thought, _A man like him and a woman like Cersei Lannister spells trouble…_

His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing bell, "I suppose we'd better get going," Gimli said grimly, "Let's see what the Lord of Rivendell wants."

The three of them walked together to the council chamber of the Last Homely house. Along the way they saw a number of other figures, Gandalf the Grey of course, along with a few other elves, the old Hobbit Bilbo was hobbling there as well. They entered to see that Gimli's father, Gloin, had already arrived, and waved his son to him.

Clegane, seeing Aragorn walked to the ranger's side, "So what's this about? Something to do with…" he didn't dare to speak of the ring aloud.

Aragorn nodded, "Yes," he frowned, "I mean no offense Ser Clegane but I was not aware you were invited..."

"He was not," Elrond said, walking towards them, "I'm sorry but things must be discussed here in absolute secrecy-"

"If my word carries any weight then let him stay," the three of them turned to see Frodo Baggins standing there, the ring still about his neck, "Ser Clegane saved my life on the journey here. If he cannot be trusted then no one can."

Elrond looked at him a moment and then sighed, "I suppose young master Baggins speaks the truth… you must forgive me Ser Clegane, I am slow to trust new faces."

 _You are right to be suspicious,_ "No offense is taken," he replied. Deciding he would rather not sit with Aragorn after all he moved back over to Gimli and sat next to the dwarf.

Idly he heard Faramir and Gandalf discussing something, "the Gap is watched, but the Fords were guarded by no more than a dozen orcs, I simply released a pig and most of them took off after it. Those remaining pursued me but I took one of the king's horses while in Rohan and they could not hold its pace."

Gandalf sighed, "I fear that in light of such a failure Saruman will only increase the watch on those parts, it is what I would do…" The wizard raised an eyebrow, "King Theoden allowed you a horse from his royal stables?"

"Necessity in this case justifies certain… requisitions," Faramir said, "when this is all over I shall repay the Rohirrim in kind. It's not as though anyone got hurt, I was in and out without so much as a whisper."

"There he is," Gimli murmured to him suddenly, pointing to one of the elves seated across from them, "Prince Legolas." He took a moment to look at the object of the dwarf's ire, he was a tall blond elf, lithe and strong looking.

Clegane smiled, finding dwarf's hostility amusing, "If it comes to blows I've got your back."

"Good to hear," the dwarf replied seriously.

"Strangers from distant lands," Elrond began loudly so that all could hear, "Friends of old, you have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. We must unite or we shall fall, each race is bound to this fate, to this one doom."

There were murmurs among those present, one of the elves stood up, "You tell us nothing we do not already know Lord Elrond," he said.

"Galdor of the Havens," Elrond said walking to him, "Here only by happenstance and yet witness to this most important hour…"

"More than happenstance," the other elf replied, "Many ships bearing men come now from these "Westerlands," some seek only to trade, others talk of settlement in our own Grey Havens! I come on behalf of Cirdan to seek your advice on this matter."

Elrond sighed, "It must wait. Frodo!" he called, "Present the Ring."

There were many shocked murmurs as Frodo walked forward and reluctantly placed the ring on a dais in the center of the chamber.

Galdor was the first among them to regain his composure, "Is that-"

"It is the One Ring," Elrond said, "the ruling ring, Isildur's Bane, the tether that binds the will of Sauron to this world. All present know if it and its power." He paused for a moment, allowing the assembled to digest his words, "The decision that lays before us now is what must be done with it."

The chamber was silent for a moment before Faramir spoke out, "The people of Gondor have long seen their sons die to protect both our realm and others. I owe it to them to ask if Sauron's ring may be used against him in some way."

"The Ring will answer to Sauron alone," Aragorn said without rising, "it will break and betray any who think otherwise."

Faramir frowned, "You seem to speak from personal knowledge, but what would a man of the wild know of a ring of power?"

Aragorn and Elrond shared a knowing glance, but they were interrupted by the elven prince Legolas, "That is no mere ranger, that is Aragorn, the heir of Isildur and your rightful king!"

Faramir stared at Aragorn shocked, "Is this true?" he asked quietly.

Aragorn nodded, "It is, though if I shall claim a crown someday I do not do so at this hour."

Faramir met his eyes a moment, "long has Gondor awaited a king. See that you do not keep our people waiting too long."

"Your council is noted," Aragorn said dryly, "now heed mine, the ring must be destroyed."

 _If that's all we need to do…_ Clegane was about to simply walk forward and cleave the thing in two with his sword but Gimli acted first.

"Well what are we waiting for?" Gimli said, standing up. He drew his axe and walked forward, with a shout he brought his weapon down on the dais in the center of the room. There was a flash of light and the axe splintered, shards of steel flying in every direction. There was a startled cry from some of the onlookers. Peering forward Clegane saw that the dwarf seemed unharmed, though stunned.

"It cannot be destroyed by any art we here possess," Elrond said firmly as Gloin helped Gimli back up. "It can only be destroyed in the fires of the place where it was made. Mount Doom, in Mordor."

There were many hushed whispers then, Clegane tried to think on Mordor but realized he knew nothing of the place save that it was somewhere far to the East.

Leaning over to Gimli, who had found his way back to his seat, he whispered, "What's got everyone so worked up about Mordor exactly?"

"It's a dark and desolate place," Gimli replied, "ringed by sharp and terrible rock, populated by orcs, trolls, and any number of other fell things."

"And the Ring has to go there to be destroyed," Clegane muttered, _Of course it fucking does, this is like something out of a tale…_

"Are you saying that one of us must carry it there?" Legolas asked as the whispering died down.

"I will be dead before I see the One in the hands of that woodland sprite's offspring!" Gimli roared, this seemed to cause many others who had been holding back to burst forward in anger as well, and soon shouting and arguing filled the room.

Clegane for his part remained silent, studying the simple gold band in the center of the room, _I could take it, who better than me?_ Elrond was trying to calm the shouters now, _Yes, I am the only one strong enough for it, it should be mine!_ He found himself standing up slowly and moving around the others, who seemed not to notice him while caught in their own arguments.

"I will take it!" Bilbo Baggins called suddenly, causing everyone to stop and look at him, Clegane stopped moving. Everyone turned to see his smiling form, "I started this story all those years ago in that cave, I suppose it's time I wrote it a proper ending."

Gandalf smiled, "Bilbo my dear friend, you no more started this than any of us, nor does anyone blame you for finding this…" he glared at the ring a moment, "this thing. Though you make a valiant offer I believe your part in this adventure is over."

Bilbo nodded with a small smile, "I'd feared as much, it seems that the ring has grown stronger with age as I have grown weaker."

"Then let me take it," Frodo said boldly, "though your words were spoken in comfort Gandalf this is our burden to bear. I will bring it to Mordor, though I know not the way."

Elrond raised an eyebrow, "It seems that hour of the Shire-folk is at hand. Do you know truly what you are committing to? What tests of strength and will are ahead if you should choose this path?"

 _The hour of the Shire-folk,_ Clegane mused, "The time for talk is over," he barked, drawing everyone's attention. He stood up and walked towards Frodo, "I'm no saint, and I never claimed to be, ask anyone who knows me," He saw a small smile come across Aragorn's face, "I'm not too fair to look at either, but there's one thing I do better than anyone else, and that's killing." He looked down at Frodo, "If you're going to do this thing I'll cut down anyone who so much as looks at you wrong."

"You have my bow!" Legolas cried.

"And my axe!" shouted Gimli triumphantly.

"I have long mused on why my dreams have brought me here," Faramir said, "it seems I now have an answer, to serve as your companion in this quest."

"It seems the men of the West will be well represented then, for I shall accompany you as well," Aragorn said finally.

"Well," Gandalf said looking at the assembled faces, "It seems master Frodo that you have a number of potential companions ready and waiting."

"Will you not come as well Gandalf?" The hobbit asked eagerly.

"Of course, long have I fought against this foe, and this I fear will be our final struggle," the Wizard replied ominously. He smiled a moment, "Though you shall need friendship and loyalty as well as strength. Isn't that right Samwise Gamgee?"

There was a rustling noise and the three remaining hobbits in Rivendell sheepishly appeared from behind the foliage.

"We just wanted to keep an eye on Frodo," Sam tried to explain.

"Indeed, it seems impossible to separate you from him, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not," Elrond said with some amusement, "Do you three consent to join this mission?"

"Of course!" Merry said at once, "You're going to need a certain amount of intelligence on this expedition!"

"In that case we should leave you two behind so you don't bring the group average down," Clegane said with a scowl.

"Oh come on Clegane think of all we've been through together!" Pippin said with a smile, "Think of all the dangerous things you can protect us from on the way to Mordor and all the wonderful jokes and stories we'll have the time to tell you!"

"I can't wait," he said sourly.

"Ten companions," Elrond mused, looking them all over, "It's a good number, large enough not to be ambushed and at the same time small enough that you can slip past spies and patrols undetected. It is providence I think that brings you all here." He looked to Frodo, "I believe that this quest has been appointed to you Frodo Baggins, and that if you do not find a way to end this then no one will." His head lifted to take them in one last time, "I name you the Fellowship of the Ring!"

 **A/N: Well there we go, almost 200k words into the story and the Fellowship finally gets formed.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Eomer's not betrothed to anyone yet, but when he gets back they're going to give him the choice of Myrielle or Cerenna, though he still has the option to take neither if he so chooses. The Lannisters always pay their debts, and Eomer's done a LOT for them and can have almost anything he wants, gold, women, golden women, etc.**


	72. LXX The Horselord

**LXX**

 **The Horselord**

Eomer waited at the head of his host for his scouts to return, he'd sent a pair of Lord Banefort's riders rather than his own after the hooded lord had cautioned him to keep his most loyal men in reserve.

"I do not know what waits for us in Lannisport," he'd said, "but you've scarcely more than a dozen men of your country and you will want them about you then rather than risking them now. Let me send my own."

And so he had, he heard the hooves on the cobblestone rode before he saw the hooded men come into view. He sighed as he saw they were flying the green standards of Rohan above the Banefort sigil. _These Westerosi are far too fond of standards and sigils._ He wasn't quite able to place what irked him about these foreigners flying the flag of his forefathers, but something Payne stood beside his horse even now holding the same banner high.

"Prince Eomer," the first man said, riding close, "The rebel lords block the road, they have agreed to hear a plea of surrender from you."

"A plea of surrender?" Lord Westerling barked from his side, "We outnumber them! And our men are knights and soldiers, they're just jumped up peasants!"

"They know their position well," Eomer said with resignation, "they would need only to hold or harry us until their wretched king arrived to save them." He sighed, "Tell them I will meet them."

"What good is speaking to these fools?" Westerling continued as the horseman rode away, "If they'd join forces with such monsters as those things following Joffrey they're beyond redemption!"

"I don't think they truly know what forces they make common cause with," Eomer replied. "They have legitimate grievances against Lord Tywin by my reckoning, but even his cruelty will pale in comparison to the horrors that a goblin army will bring to their homes."

"I will pretend I didn't hear that remark about our benevolent Lord Tywin, long may he reign," Eomer turned to see Lord Banefort riding close to him, smiling. "I'm guessing from your expressions that the rebels haven't learned the error of their ways?"

"How can you be so cheerful Banefort?" Westerling barked, "We've got a wolf at the front door and a manticore at the back!"

The hooded lord shrugged, "My family is safely in Ashemark when by all rights they should be dead, and we're marching to war for a cause any man would call noble. Most importantly though, whether we live or die in this war, our actions will define our legacies and live on for generations! Would you have it said that you were a sad and somber fellow or that you met destiny with a smile on your face and a song in your heart?"

Eomer and lord Westerling looked at each other a moment, "Lord Banefort," Eomer began, "That is a… unique outlook, but I'm afraid not one I share."

"That's a Banefort for you," Westerling growled, "A grim bastard come summer or winter, but tell him we're all about to die and he's happier than a pig in shit."

A short time later a group of perhaps thirty men marched up the road to them. They were peasants, farmers mostly by the looks of them, wearing a mixture of cloth and leather. A few had large pots strapped to their heads as makeshift helmets, a few here and there had swords, but most had pitchforks, axes, or picks. Two of them were mounted, and he took these to be the alleged bastards of Houses Reyne and Tarbeck.

The first one wore no helm, showing off vibrant red hair and a thick mustache that contrasted sharply with his pale skin. He was armored in mottled steel that seemed to have been made by a smith of poor skill, though he had a fine kite shield bearing a seven pointed star on a silver and blue field.

"That one might actually have some Tarbeck blood," Westerling whispered to him, "no one has hair that red but a Tarbeck."

The second mounted man was the so-called Reyne bastard, Eomer recognized the sleek and shining black polished armor that he'd heard of in reports of the man's activity. He wasn't quite so tall as Eomer, but he looked strong enough. His face was obscured by a lowered visor which he raised as they got closer, revealing a pair of dark brown eyes set in a tanned face above a cruel smile.

"Well met Prince Eomer," the man said arrogantly, "I am lord Reyne of Castamere, this is my comrade, Lord Tarbeck." He paused, when no objections to his titles came he smiled and continued, "I understand you wish to surrender?" In truth whether the man had four or forty thousand men Eomer would never surrender to him, many women and even children had come to the Crag with tales of the man's brutality and sick vices.

"No," replied flatly, "I am here to offer the two of you a compromise so that you may live to fight another day."

"A compromise?" Tarbeck asked, confused, "We've got you between a rock and a hard place it seems, what do you think you have to offer?"

"Allow me to be blunt my lords," he began, "your men, stout and brave though they may be, are poorly equipped. I would guess few of them are true warriors and whatever small skirmishes you have seen so far will be nothing compared to the thunder of a thousand cavalry bearing down on you."

"But King Joffrey-" Tarbeck started,

"Is still far to our rear," Eomer said impatiently, "and while you could perhaps hold us until he arrived most of your force will be dead by then." He looked directly at the red haired man, who gulped, "I assure you that your commanders will be among the fallen."

The peasants surrounding the men murmured anxiously, they knew he spoke the truth, but clearly none had dared voice their concerns until now. Reyne glared down at them with a frown and they silenced.

"You cannot frighten us Prince Eomer, hound of Tywin Lannister though you may be," Reyne sneered.

Eomer's eyes narrowed, "I have become a friend of House Lannister by necessity and that duty which all men share to protect innocent life. I am no enemy of yours and so I make you this offer; in one hour our host will march on the road to Casterly Rock. If you are there blocking us you will be struck down. If the road is empty…" he paused allowing the implication to sink in, "I will permit none in my host to search for you."

"Bugger that!" Tarbeck said suddenly, "We've already risen against Lord Tywin and declared for the king. If your side wins he will not forget this. Joffrey wins this war or we lose!"

"And for that matter what will his highness say if we allow you to slip through our defenses unmolested?" Reyne asked.

"Do you know what monsters the king leads?" Westerling shouted angrily, "He'll serve your men as a bloody appetizer during his victory feast!"

"Enough!" Eomer yelled, cutting the other man off. He sighed, "I am a prince in my own right… the heir to a kingdom now." Somehow speaking the words made him feel the sorrow of Theodred's death again, "stand your men down and I will grant you and your families asylum in Rohan when this is over. There is much good land there for farming, and I promise you fair treatment."

Tarbeck stroked his red mustache, "So we would be your subjects then?"

"Yes," he replied.

The rebel lords looked at each other, "We will consider your offer," Tarbeck said finally.

"You have only one hour," Eomer said, "choose carefully."

Without another word the peasants followed the two back down the road in the direction they'd come from.

"Will you really let them come back to Rohan with you Prince Eomer?" Podrick asked suddenly.

Startled Eomer looked down at the boy who was appointed as his squire, "I would not have offered it otherwise," he said as the party turned back towards the bulk of the army. "Why do you ask?"

Podrick stumbled a moment, trying to hold the banner high, "It's just that… if they can go to Rohan might I as well?"

Eomer raised an eyebrow, "I had hoped to leave you with your relatives in Lannisport, doesn't the Payne family own an estate just south of the city?"

"They do my lord," Podrick said hesitantly, "but I had hoped to continue in your service…"

He sighed, "You are free to do as you wish Podrick, but make no decisions in haste."

An hour later he led the host up the road. He was relieved to see that it was empty and unblocked, the rebel lords nowhere to be seen.

"Looks like they took you up on your offer," Lord Banefort commented as they rode past.

"Keep your wits about you," Eomer replied, "It could still be an attempt at an ambush," but they passed the road in peace anyway, and later that night when they had marched far and his scouts assured him that they were not followed he breathed a sigh of relief.

As they passed further from the Crag it became obvious that Joffrey's force had stopped to pillage it and they now held a lead of at least a few days over the larger force. The realization had soured Lord Westerling's mood, and he'd taken to drinking and ranting loudly to anyone who would listen about how he'd cut Joffrey's belly open with a rusty razor, but most of the men just ignored him or nodded politely.

As they marched Eomer ordered riders to go to each village telling the people to evacuate. At first he'd worried that they would not be able to reach everyone in time but Lord Banefort assured him his efforts were enough.

"After the Crag Joffrey will head directly to Casterly Rock and Lannisport," the hooded man said, "He is eager to establish his legitimacy as a king, and his goblins will not waste time on the countryside now that the way to the largest prize is cleared. The corridor we must empty is much smaller than you believe it to be."

"I still worry for the isolated peoples in these mountains," he said as he looked up at some of the peaks, "the villages we can reach easily enough, but what of those families who live alone in the wilderness? What of the farmsteads and mining camps?"

"We cannot slow our pace any more than we have," Banefort replied sternly, "the smallfolk always suffer in war. You have done more for them than most men of your station would, but the only way to save them now is to find a force that can defeat Joffrey in the field."

Eomer scowled angrily, he knew the man was right, "We march then."

It was another week before they came within sight of the Rock, still as magnificent as ever. As they came closer and saw the city Eomer looked down to see that a small army lay camped in the rolling hills and fields outside the city. A banner bearing a seven pointed star flew over the tents.

"That's the Faith down there," Banefort said, "I don't think we can reach the Rock without going through them."

"I don't intend to go through their army," Eomer said, "I intend to join with them." They marched towards the Rock and as he'd expected a column of riders came out of the Faith's camp. He gestured for Podrick to raise his own banner high as he turned to face them. "Hold!" he shouted as his men rushed for their weapons, "Do not attack them unless you are attacked first!"

As the men came close Eomer saw the first among them was a handsome youth with a shaved head and the same seven pointed star tattooed on his forehead. It took him a moment to recognize the face as one he'd met on his last journey to the Rock.

"Lancel Lannister," he called, "You have much to explain."

"The faithful need not justify their actions to heathens," he sneered, "I have been doing the work of the gods while _you_ have lost half the kingdom to Joffrey and his demons."

In that moment Eomer almost struck at him, but he breathed out slowly instead, "Lancel, I do not know what madness has seized you-"

"Madness?" Lancel asked, he rode past Eomer and shouted to the men assembled behind him, "He calls the service of the Seven madness! The faith of your fathers! Will you tolerate this?" There was silence as the assembled men glared at him, gripping their weapons tightly. The wind filled the quiet air as Lancel's face darkened, "So he not only rides in shadow but he brings the Faithful into darkness as well..."

He turned back to Eomer, "I have been in correspondence with Saruman the White, a man blessed with the Father's wisdom. He has told me much of the nature of sin… and of our punishment for it. The armies of the seven hells now walk the earth, and only I, by the Warrior's blessing, can drive them back."

"I do not know what lies the Wizard has told you," Eomer said in a low voice, "but if you would stand against Joffrey I have no quarrel with you, let us join our armies."

"And have our spirits tainted by your sins?" Lancel cried, more to the men following him than to Eomer, "I think not. The End is coming, only by absolute purity will we attain victory!" the men behind Lancel shouted triumphantly.

"What insanity is this?" Lord Westerling said angrily, "a man doesn't need to be a damned Septon to see what needs to be done here!"

"We will only fight with you if you march under the banner of the Faith," Lancel said, "Otherwise you will be struck down like the other sinners."

Now even Banefort was angry, "You would threaten us? It is by our blood that you have been free to play these games!"

"Give us the heathen," Lancel demanded, pointing to Eomer, "let him stand trial before the Septons for his encouragement of apostasy. Only then shall there be peace among the Faithful!"

Banefort drew a sword and spurred his horse in front of Eomer's, "If you lay a hand on Prince Eomer I'll cut your throat you little traitor!"

"No," Eomer said quietly, putting his hand on the blade and lowering it. "If I stand for this trial will you swear a vow before your gods?"

Lancel narrowed his eyes, "What vow heathen?"

"That no matter what you do to me you will stand together and bring Joffrey Baratheon to justice. He had a hand in my cousin Theodred's death, if nothing else I would see him avenged."

Lancel was quiet a moment, "That is a noble vow, even for a non-believer. Stand for trial and I shall swear it before the Seven."

With a sigh Eomer dismounted, "You cannot be serious!" Lord Westerling shouted, "They'll just kill you the moment you're out of our sight!"

"You dare accuse the Faith of such barbarity?" Lancel asked, "Prince Eomer will be held unharmed until his judgment." Lancel nimbly slipped off his horse and withdrew a pair of iron shackles from one of his saddlebags. Stepping forward he clasped them on Eomer's outstretched hands.

One of his Rohirrim came forward suddenly, "Prince Eomer… is this your will?"

"It is," he said bitterly, "If I cannot return to Rohan… be sure that my sister knows of my fate." The man was silent a moment before nodding.

They brought a mule over and a pair of men helped Eomer onto it, _at least they're not going to drag me._ The party rode slowly back towards the Faith's camp, Lancel slowed his horse until it kept pace with the beast Eomer had been placed on.

"I want you to know that I do not lie," he said, "You will be kept safe, if not in comfort, and if you confess your sins your punishment will be more lenient."

"Lenient?" he spat, "I have done nothing against your Faith, I am only agreeing to this farce to force you fools to fight together against your enemy."

Lancel's face darkened, "You have encouraged men to turn from the faith, this is apostasy," he said in a low voice, "it is a crime that comes with the penalty of death if you are convicted, and this trial is no farce. You may select a septon as an advocate or the Most Devout will appoint one for you, and you will have ample opportunity to prove your innocence." Lancel rode back to the front of the column.

 _They already know what outcome they want,_ he thought darkly, _this ceremony is only to justify their actions._ They passed into the camp and many of the men pointed at him and whispered, at least a few laughed and openly mocked him. _These fools have no idea what is coming,_ he sighed, _and even with their help victory is still far from certain…_

 **A/N: Reviews!**

 **Pyromania101 - Cersei and Kevan are actually headed for Lothlorien rather than Rivendell.**

 **Lukas0908 - Faramir and Boromir are different in a lot of ways, Boromir's a killing machine, but Faramir's definitely the one you want on a quest like this since he's less proud and more lore-savvy than his brother. That's my opinion anyway.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - The "golden women" thing is a reference to one of Tyrion's lines in the show, but still I got a chuckle out of your response.**

 **Reader - Joffrey's simply got too many to fight a campaign of attrition against them, the Westerlands could win like that to be sure but the countryside would be devastated. The Westerlands is already sending the harvest out to Gondor which will definitely help, they probably have enough to help Rohan once the passes are cleared.**


	73. LXXI The Horselord

**LXXI**

 **The Horselord**

Lancel's men had chained Eomer within a tent near the center of their camp with a pair of guards to keep watch over him. They had placed leg shackles on him as well, and these were attached to a stake that had been pounded into a rock that likely took at least three men to move. His prison had few comforts, not even a pile of hay for bedding. That evening, as he was thinking sourly on how he should have never left Rohan, a new figure entered the tent. He was an older man with thin grey hair clothed in a plain grey robe Eomer now recognized as that of a septon. He carried with him an odd silver dish.

"Leave us," he said to the guards, and they did so without hesitation. Eomer looked up suspiciously as the man took a seat next to him on the rough ground.

"If you've come asking me to confess I've already explained myself to several members of your order, I have encouraged no "apostasy" as you call it," Eomer said derisively. Ignoring his tone the man lifted the silver covering off the dish revealing a steaming pork chop alongside a number of greens. Eomer's stomach growled involuntarily, on the march from the Crag provisions had been light, and what they had eaten was of poor quality. The man revealed a knife and fork and began cutting the meat into pieces.

"My name is Septon Ezekiel Prince Eomer," the man said as he sawed the last piece of meat away from the bone, "I am here to explain to you the procedure in your trial and I had thought since I was coming here anyway I would bring you your dinner." He took the knife away, leaving the fork, and pushed the plate towards Eomer. He eyed the food suspiciously for a moment before the septon speared a piece of pork with the knife and popped it into his mouth. "It's of excellent quality," he said, chewing it slowly, "a tithe from some wealthy merchant or another."

Eomer took his first bite to discover the Septon was right, the meat was perfectly cooked and seasoned, "Is it common to share your finest meals with prisoners?" he asked between bites.

Ezekiel shrugged, "Food is plentiful in the Westerlands even now, almost a year after the Arrival, when the Begging Brothers and the Poor Fellows come for offerings most prefer meat or bread over gold. There were few beggars in Lannisport for us to feed before and with the need for fighting men there are fewer now. As for your status as our prisoner, all are equal before the Seven. You will eat as we eat in this camp."

"You said you were here to explain my trial?" he asked as he picked up a stick of celery, biting into it with a crisp crunch.

The septon nodded, "Joffrey Baratheon, the Accursed as we've taken to calling him, is but a few days away at most according to those who came with you from the Crag. Your trial will begin tomorrow, you will have the opportunity to select an advocate Septon or I will appoint one for you."

"I'm sure I would have naught but the best of defenses," Eomer said sarcastically.

"You will have a man I trust to guarantee you justice," Ezekiel replied, though from the look he gave Eomer it was clear that they had very different ideas of what that would mean. As Eomer finished his meal Ezekiel took the plate and then smiled, "Return the fork Prince Eomer." With a scowl he withdrew the silverware from his sleeve and handed it back to the man. "Really, would this have done any good?" he asked as he turned it over in his hand, "This is why they wanted me to bring you soup." He sighed, "I suppose a savage heathen cannot be expected to be _entirely_ peaceable in custody. All the same I have declared that you will be allowed visitors."

With that he turned to leave. As soon as he did Eomer allowed the pork bone to slide down his other sleeve. Grabbing it tightly he began filing it to a point against the rough surface of the rock they'd chained him to.

The first of his visitors came not long after that, Lord Banefort, hooded as always, "Lord Eomer," he said walking into the tent and looking around, "Well I suppose it could be worse. He realized suddenly what Eomer was doing with the pork bone, "Is that really necessary?"

"I've seen men from Dunland kill one another with bone knives," he replied, "what have you come here to say Banefort?"

"I wanted you to know we've spoken with Ser Stafford," he replied, "between our men and his we seem to have a numerical parity with these zealots…" he didn't finish, but Eomer quickly guessed his intent.

"No," he said quietly, "every man is going to be needed for the battle to come."

Banefort sighed with exasperation, "I understand this, and truthfully so do most of the men, but if these fools actually mean to execute you publicly there _will_ be bloodshed whether or not you plead for peace."

"Then we must stretch this trial out until the enemy arrives," he said examining the sharpened edge of the bone. He beckoned Banefort closer and grasped the edge of his robe.

Banefort's eyes went wide a moment, "Wait-" but with a rip Eomer cut a strip of cloth from the man's sleeve and began wrapping it around the bone to create a makeshift handle. "That robe was a gift," the other man sighed. "I will carry your instructions to the other lords." he stopped a moment, "If I don't see you again..."

"You will," Eomer said firmly, "now go."

He slept fitfully. He was determined to keep his sharpened bone inside his clothes but this caused obvious problems every time he turned over. He woke up to a short kick in the ribs.

"Get up heathen," one of his guards said, "You've got another visitor." He groaned as he sat up. The guard laughed and walked back outside the tent, "He's awake!" he heard the man say.

 _Probably Westerling trying to talk me into letting him kill Lancel,_ he thought with annoyance, but he was surprised to see a young woman wearing a red hood and cloak walk slowly into the tent.

"I am here to bring letters to you that have arrived at the Rock," the girl said slowly, "On behalf of Lord Stafford Lannister…"

He smiled, "Is Ser Stafford so shorthanded that he must send his daughter into an enemy camp to carry letters to prisoners?"

"He doesn't exactly know…" Cerenna said slowly as she pulled the hood from her face, "Prince Eomer, I'd hoped we would see each other again under more pleasant circumstances."

"Be thankful we saw one another again at all, I fear that I will not be able to give you that riding lesson we'd discussed," he paused, "might I ask why you are here? It seems dangerous to risk giving the Faith another hostage."

She seemed slightly offended at that, "I am here because I choose to be, I found my way out of the Rock and it is by my coin that the guard outside is willing to stay there."

He cocked an eyebrow, "So the demure ladies of Casterly Rock are not so tame after all…"

She blushed at the remark, but smiled, "I do not know how it is in Rohan Prince Eomer, but in the Westerlands it is the ladies who tame and mount the stallions."

Now it was his cheeks that burned red, "A… forward remark," he said with some embarrassment.

The girl burst into laughter, after a moment she collected herself again, "I really did bring letters for you, we've had much correspondence with Rohan and I thought you might want to know of matters in your homeland." She sat next to him and handed him a small stack of papers she withdrew from her satchel.

He skimmed through the first one and sighed with relief as he read that Grima had been killed, but the feeling vanished as he read that Isengard now waged open war upon the Rohirrim.

"I should be back there," he growled angrily, "Eowyn shouldn't have to be the one leading our armies."

"She does it well by all accounts," Cerenna said from his side, "uncle Tyrion would not lie about such matters."

"The shieldmaidens of Rohan are far from helpless but it is still my failure that she is not shielded from the horrors of war," Eomer said glumly.

"It is not your fault," Cerenna said quietly, "there is no shielding anyone from this war…" She had a faraway look in her eyes for a moment, "I had to kill a man… to escape Lancel's men when this all happened," she slowly leaned against him, "It wasn't like the songs or stories… Those always make it seem like such an easy thing to kill, a single blow, a stab through the heart…" He put his arm around her, hoping to comfort the girl. They sat like this quietly for a moment before she spoke again.

"Your trial will begin today," she said.

"It will," he replied, "a show for them to justify why they must kill me."

"What do you know of Westerosi law?" she asked.

"Nothing," Eomer said, "save that I may choose a Septon as an advocate, fat lot of good that does me…"

"Septon Archer," she said eagerly, "demand Septon Archer, he is a true servant of the Seven and my friend." She paused, "do you know about trial by combat?"

He frowned, "As I said I know nothing of your laws… trial by combat? That sounds like-"

"It's _exactly_ what it sounds like," she said cutting him off.

For the first time since his captivity he felt hope, "What are the rules? I'll take my chances against Lancel with any weapon!"

"You must be a knight or a nobleman," Cerenna said smiling with him, "Septon Archer will explain the rest, he knows the laws well."

"Perhaps I might prove my innocence after all," Eomer said.

"It's disgusting," she said suddenly, "After all that you have done for the people of these lands… to be rewarded like this, you said yourself that your homeland needs you and yet we repay your sacrifice with this betrayal!"

"I trust the Lannister family to settle their debts whether I live or die," he said grimly. "The folly of this "Faith Militant" will not be permitted for much longer. I know Jaime Lannister marches from the east, and I know his men will cut this rabble to pieces." He looked at the dirt floor of the tent, "I decided long ago I would be willing to die for Rohan, if I might trade my life to bring my countrymen ten thousand swords in their hour of need I will gladly do so…"

"You're so much more than just one man though!" Cerenna said loudly, startling him, "Everywhere you go you inspire people to do better to _be_ better!"

He frowned, "I don't think that's entirely-"

"Lords Banefort and Westerling are not good men," she said simply, "They're well enough for Westeros I suppose, but they are not heroes… or at least they weren't before they met you. The men of the Westerlands have long known allegiance to my family only out of fear, now they are willing to die out of love for you."

"I doubt lord Tywin will be happy to hear that his subjects are so taken with a foreign lord," he said dryly.

She sighed with exasperation, "That's not what I meant exactly, they're not loyal to you personally, no offense, it's more of what you represent. Every one of us grew up believing in heroes, little boys will run through the courtyards with sticks, pretending to be Lann the Clever or Symeon Star-Eyes, little girls curtsey and pretend to be Jonquil or Maris the Maid… but as we grow older and are disappointed with life we stop trying to be them, we convince ourselves heroes aren't real, that they never were."

"Call me a hero all you wish," he said, "But I am still only a man."

"A man who reminded others that courage and bravery were more than just fairytales. A man who showed other men what they may yet become…" she turned away a moment and her next words were almost whispered, "what _I_ might become."

He wasn't sure how to respond to that, "Well," he said finally, "I'm afraid that if I'm something out of a tale it's one that doesn't have an ending yet."

"The tale of Beren and Luthien lacked an ending until it was over as well," she said with a smile.

"So we're Beren and Luthien now are we?" he asked with a small chuckle.

"I'd say you're close enough to Beren, but I'll have it said that _you_ were the one who compared _me_ to Luthien." She looked him in the eyes a moment, and just when he was about to ask her what she was doing her face darted forward and their lips met in a kiss.

It lasted only a moment before she pulled away again, seeming flustered, "That was-" she cleared her throat and before he could say anything she stood up. "I've been collecting things for those in Gondor and Rohan who have lost loved ones in the war… when this is over come and see me that you may bring them to your countrymen."

"I'll be sure to do so," he said, still in some shock, _that was unexpected…_ he gave her a smile, "You'd better get back lest your father worry finding his daughter gone."

"My sister Myrielle has seen to that," she said, "but you are right, even in such uncertain times it will be difficult to believe we locked ourselves in my chambers to pray for so long." She stopped before leaving, "Remember Prince Eomer, demand Septon Archer."

With that she left the tent and the guard walked back in with a toothy grin on his face, "Have a good time?" Seeing Eomer glaring at him the man shrugged, "Fine don't talk, the Septons will hear all your sins anyways."

Later as the sun drew higher in the sky Ezekiel returned, "Your tribunal is assembled Prince Eomer," he said, "Shall I summon your advocate?"

"Yes," he said firmly, "I request Septon Archer," savoring the shock on the man's face he continued, "and I demand trial by combat!"

 **A/N: I usually don't do two POVs in a row but this just felt like the right direction to go. This is my first try at real romance so I guess we'll see how that goes.**

 **Pyromania101 - Eomer is a leader in a warrior culture to be sure, but he tolerated Grima for years without causing a civil war so I think he's probably a pretty careful guy when he needs to be.**

 **reader - well the Faith has rough parity with the city watch/Lannisters and Eomer's force, a big part of it was the shock and the fact that a member of the Lannister family was leading them. You're right that Stafford has royally screwed up, but among the fanbase he's widely remembered as the one Lannister who's bad at war, he got killed against Robb's force in canon even when he outnumbered them I think. Referring to your previous review if you want some hard numbers I'd say the Faith has maybe between five and seven thousand followers which are mostly a combination of raised peasants, leftover hedge knights, and defectors from the City Watch. Now that Eomer has arrived the loyalist factions have roughly equal numbers but those are mostly trained soldiers. Jaime's force is maybe 10,000 and they're top level knights and men-at-arms. Tywin's got the remainder of the original Osgiliath force back in Gondor. There's probably more men that could potentially be raised out there in keeps and holdfasts but most of the Westerlands best soldiers are already in the field.**

 **Cyricist001 - Eomer was always fond of bonfires built from dead bodies in canon, maybe they can have a cultural exchange on the topic.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Lancel is probably going to get a good hard dose of reality before the end of all this**

 **Gremlinjack & Slytherhiss - Well if you guys made it this far I'd guess you have at least a little faith in my storytelling abiliyt ;)**


	74. A Collection of Joke Chapters

**A/N: These are just some silly things I wrote for Spacebattles and the Alternate History Forums over the course of the story. These are just comedy so if you're worried they'll ruin the "gravitas" of Eomer's trial by combat (not written as of this writing) I'd recommend skipping them. If you're up for a laugh then read on and see if you like any of these.**

 **XIII  
Tom Bombadil**

 ****Tom was composing riddles to sing to Old Man Willow in his study when Goldberry came in, "Tom," she cried merrily, "something has happened requiring a very long and convoluted seven part story arc."

Tom rubbed his beard thoughtfully, "Will it require a lot of singing and dancing?" he inquired.

Goldberry smiled, "Why Tom, what else do we even do in this part of the woods?"

"Then it's settled," Tom said gaily, "let us go on a musical woodland adventure that will in no way involve politics, war, betrayal, love, or anything like that."

"Let's be sure not to talk about Saruman or Tywin and the ring either!" Goldberry added.

Tom laughed heartily, "indeed wife, indeed..." and thus began the New Adventures of Tom Bombadil!

 **A/N: This was something I posted in response to someone who commented that it was good that I was keeping the story moving instead of getting bogged down.**

 **Sauron's Plan I**

Sauron laughed from inside the Barad-Dur, sipping his tea. Those fools thought he would send nothing but orcs against them again? No, Mairon the Great had learned from his defeats in the first age...

"My Lord," The Witch-King of Angmar, or as he was known in the underground rap dircuit "Da Bitchin King," approached, "The ultimate weapon has been prepared... the one thing that can defeat the Lannisters."

"Good," he said nodding, "activate THE ROBOT STANNIS!" lightning cracked and mount doom flared as the doors of the black gate opened... out marched a stern and angry robot made of a strong cold iron that would break before it bent.

"Robot Stannis!" Sauron's voice echoed over the fields, "Bring me the ring!"

Robot Stannis' mechanical eyes focused as it processed the orders, "No..." it whispered, "The ring and the crown are mine by rights." He began marching out into the dead marshes, his mechanical legs clinking and clacking menacingly.

"No?!" Sauron asked shocked

"My liege!" The witch king said, "We've made it too strong willed! We amplified Stannis with our advanced robotic technology and now he will NEVER bend or break! He's become self-aware!"

"Shut him down SHUT HIM DOWN!" Sauron screamed in panic, but it was too late.

 **This was in response to someone asking how Sauron's plans were changing to counter the Lannisters. I did give a more serious response after this but I thought this would be funny to write.**

 **Sauron's Plan** **II**

After the incident with the Robotic Stannis Sauron had decided to go with a more direct approach to recovering the ring. For that reason he and the Witch King were now in physical form outside of Rivendell, preparing to sneak in and steal the ring right out from under the noses of the Wise.

Though he could no long take a fair form he knew just the disguise that would fool Elrond Half-Elen, "Did you bring them?" he asked the witch king in a hushed whisper.

"Yes master!" his most powerful servant replied, producing a Wal-Mart bag. The chain had recently opened a store in Mordor, and though it was convenient to have a big box chain right down the street from the Barad-Dur many of the orcs complained that it lowered wages and cost jobs. "These were the finest they had in stock!" The witch King removed a pair of fake beards and a bag of googly eyes.

"Excellent!" Sauron took one of the beards and fastened it around his terrible dark helmet, "Now the eyes!" The witch king delicately applied a bit of glue to one and stuck it on the top of Sauron's helmet. A Short time later the disguise was complete.

"Well?" he asked, "Does it look real?"

"You could pass for Aragorn himself master!" the Witch King said proudly, "Here, help me put on mine next!"

The two of them, now cleverly disguised, walked towards the main hall of Rivendell. The elves gave them odd glances and finally one ran away at the sight of them.

"I think it's working master!" The Witch King whispered.

Suddenly Elrond Half Elven appeared, flanked by a pair of guards, "Oh for the love of Eru," he muttered, "All right and who are you two supposed to be?"

"We're dwarves!" Sauron said without thinking, "See the beards?" he tugged on the fake fabric.

Elrond raised an eyebrow, "Sauron that disguise is as terrible as you are loathsome to behold."

"Hey! That's hurtful!" He complained, "You elves used to love having me around back when I was calling myself Annotar!"

Elrond sighed and put a hand on his forehead, rubbing his temples, "Well that was before we knew you were trying to use the rings to control our minds."

"Come on it wasn't all bad," Sauron said, "Remember that time you and I got drunk off our asses and crashed Thranduil's car?"

Elrond smiled, "Yes that was… That was pretty funny, we told him it was the dwarves didn't we?"

"He never forgave them for it!" Sauron wheezed with laughter.

Elrond collected himself, "Fine, I'll let you into the council of Elrond, but only to prove to you that the free people's of Middle Earth are beyond such simple tricks!"

"Who's this?" Gimli the Dwarf asked, the two of them looked to see him with his father Gloin.

"These are a pair of…" Elrond sighed, "Dwarves."

"Elrond didn't want to let us in because we were dwarves!" The Witch King blurted suddenly, "He's racist!"

"Elrond!" Gimli gasped taken aback, "Is this true?"

Elrond rolled his eyes, "Oh I'm sorry master dwarf, I'll let them in right away."

"So where are you two from kinsmen?" Gimli asked as they followed the elf.

"North… Beardtown," Sauron said hesitantly.

"No! truthfully?!" Gimli exclaimed happily, "I just passed through North Beardtown on my way here! Do you know my cousin Gromli?"

"Uhh," Sauron stammered, "I haven't been home lately you see and-"

"I'll have him set you up with some fine beer next time you're there!" Gimli said with a smile.

A short time later they were gathered outside with the other men, elves, and dwarves that had come to Elrond's summons. He revealed the ring, telling them of it's history, and why it must be destroyed.

 _It's so close now!_ Sauron thought with glee, _I could just reach out and-_

"I believe," Elrond said sternly, looking directly at him, "That the enemy might even have spies here."

"What!?" Exclaimed Merry the Hobbit, "Who?"

Elrond sighed angrily again, "Well _whomever it might be_ , I would remind them that they would be struck down where they stand if they should try to take this ring from us."

 _Damnit_ , he thought.

"Hey Merry," Pippin said suspiciously, "How long have we known Sam?"

"I don't know Pippin, he does seem to be following Mr. Frodo awfully closely since he got that ring," the other hobbit responded. The two of them glared at Sam, who was helping himself to the buffet of snacks Elrond had provided. "We'll keep an eye on him."

 _Time to make my move,_ He stood up, "Hello everyone, My name is Mr. Noruas, and I come from… Someplace far away!" He chuckled to himself, "Yes, that'll do. Anyways I suggest we give the ring back to Sauron as a peace offering!"

"I like the way Noruas thinks!" The Witch King said from his side.

For a moment everyone was quiet, feeling his cover was blown Sauron grabbed the Witch King and dashed for the exit, stopping only to flip the edge of Sam the hobbit's plate upward, causing his food to spill on the ground.

"Stop him!" Elrond called, but it was too late. He'd already made it beyond the building.

"We'll think of a better plan master," the witch king said when they were safely outside of Rivendell, perhaps we should buy wigs to go with the next set of disguises.

Sauron sighed, "Perhaps…" They were interrupted by a the clanking of steel legs. "Melkor no…" Sauron whispered, "He's found us!"

The glowing eyes of the Robot Stannis landed upon them, "Bend the knee!" It shouted in a mechanical voice, "Mordor is mine by rights!"

"Run master run!" The witch king called as the robot chased them into the wilderness.

 **More of the same, though I was watching some old Simpsons episodes and decided to steal some gags. The next chapter will be a return to more serious topics don't worry ;) Since I posted this and made you all come check for updates I guess I should answer a few reviews:**

 **Pyromania101 - While Cerenna doesn't have an official picture DC79 based her appearance as he described her on the actress Jayne Wisener.**

 **Jackalope89 - Thanks! For the purposes of this fic you can assume The Arrival is permanent and the Westerlands is here to stay.**

 **Guest - the Faith Militant is mostly peasantry and defectors from the City Watch mixed with whoever didn't get called up to march East with Tywin or North with Eomer, you're right to doubt their ability to find a match for Eomer.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - When we do the Battle of the Rock I'll make a map for it. To anyone who hasn't found them yet I uploaded a chapter that's just all the maps in the story so far over on Archive of Our Own.**


	75. LXXII The Steward

**LXXII**

 **The Steward**

Denethor smiled to himself as he read the letter detailing his son's victory over the forces of Umbar, he had been right to send Boromir rather than Imrahil it seemed. In addition to the military value the Corsair's defeat had brought him a certain sense of personal satisfaction as well, Greyjoy was nothing more than a pirate after all, and no amount of petty sorceries and stolen Palantiri would change that.

Folding the letter he got up from his desk, Lord Tywin was out of bed now and was insisting on holding war councils again. Through the use of the Palantir he was already well aware of most of the enemy's troop movements, but with Boromir in the south and Faramir somewhere to the north it would fall to him to make an appearance.

He entered the council chamber to see the Old Lion already waiting for him, along with Prince Imrahil and Ser Addam Marbrand, who was now commanding the Westerlands forces in the field as Jaime Lannister marched back west.

"Lord Denethor," Tywin said nodding, "I trust you have news of the war in the south?"

"Greyjoy has lost nearly half of his ships," he said smiling as he sat down, "Boromir faced the man in combat himself, evidently he endeavored to use some trick involving poisoned smoke to divide the fleets so that he could sink our ships piecemeal."

"What are our losses?" Tywin asked, "What of your son?"

"We've lost some of our ships to be sure," he replied, "A firm count of which ones can be dragged back to Pelargir for repair and which are lost is still ongoing, though I expect we have lost no more than ten in total." He paused a moment, he knew enough about Tywin Lannister to know the inquiry about Boromir was merely a nicety, but he answered anyway, "Boromir is recovering, he breathed in a great deal of the smoke but the healers say he will be fit to travel again within a few days at most."

"Finally some good news," Marbrand said, raising a glass of wine and smiling, "If they can't land in force to our south then we can hold the enemy along the Anduin!"

"How is that going?" Denethor asked, pouring himself a drink, "what movements are there along the riverfront?"

"Ser Marbrand and I have led patrols up and down the banks of the river, inside of Osgiliath and out," Imrahil said, "there have been a few incursions, mostly no more than a few dozen orcs in rowboats, but they are easily found and butchered. They've no wargs on this side of the river and our cavalry easily run them down."

"They cannot force a crossing at Osgiliath," Denethor said. He looked down at the map on the table, "Sauron has found us more prepared to resist than he had hoped, the addition of your armies has certainly helped in this…" he pointed to a small island in the Anduin to the north of Minas Tirith, "Cair Andros, that is the next major crossing that an army from the East might make use of."

"Then we will march in time with their own army and meet them there," Tywin replied, "they can hardly decamp from the other bank of the river without us noticing."

"Indeed," Imrahil said, "we would need to split our army here to defend both crossings, but Cair Andros is only fifty miles north of here, if necessary we can easily shift men between there and Osgiliath."

"Orcs alone seem easy enough to defend against," Marbrand commented, "ferocious to be sure, but no match for a knight or even a peasant with a spear and a sword at his back."

 _Now I must tell them the bad news,_ he thought glumly, "Orcs he has plenty of, but with the failure to capture Osgiliath Sauron has summoned his vassals and allies to war in full." _I have seen them in their foul temples, the dark cities standing in black deserts,_ "The Haradrim from the South are a cunning and fierce people, but I fear that the men of Rhun have been roused as well. They are a great and ancient kingdom, with armies at least as large as Mordor itself."

"If they are such a powerful foe why would Sauron leave them in reserve?" Tywin asked, "Why would he wait until now to bring them against us?"

"They were preparing for a war in the North against the Kingdoms of Erebor and Dale, but now Sauron calls on them to turn West," He reached across the table for one of the small wooden figures, each representing an army. He placed it on the map over the letters marked, "Rhun." "They march under Kurgath the terrible, said to be a descendent of Khamul the Easterling himself."

"Surely Rhun cannot afford to bring its full strength against us?" Imrahil asked, worry beginning to show on his face, "They are a fractured and divided people with many enemies within and without!"

"Divided you say?" Tywin asked, stroking his chin, "could any be persuaded to join with us? What man could willingly serve such a creature as Sauron? Even the Mad King would have been preferable."

Denethor sighed, "Willingly or otherwise they have served him since before Ar-Pharazon dragged him out of Mordor, though there have been brief periods where we wrested those lands form Sauron's dominion in this late age he is both king and god to them." He turned Imrahil, "they come now with all feuds forgotten."

"I was under the impression that Cair Andros was a mighty fortress," Tywin said, "even if they bring their armies against it surely we can defend the island?"

"We can Lord Tywin," Denethor said, "but I worry they will march further north, to the crossings at the Undeeps, where there are no fortifications to hold them."

Tywin looked at the several wooden tokens arranged on the map, "then we must find another army that can meet them in the field…"

"No such army exists," Imrahil said glumly, "we… we may be finished."

There was a loud bang as Tywin slammed his fist on the table, "Prince Imrahil," he said in a low voice, "I will not tolerate such defeatist talk at my war council."

"I am not your subordinate Tywin Lannister," Imrahil growled, "long have our people foreseen this doom, and though it is new to you it will be no less terrible to see it come to fruition."

There was silence around the table for a moment before Tywin spoke again, "I am not a godly man," he said as he stared at the map, "Even now, with all that has happened…" he scowled, "if there are gods then they must be as cruel and capricious as any man."

"It's blasphemy then," Marbrand said, when the other three men looked at him he shrugged, "I cannot say I have not had similar thoughts Lord Tywin, please continue."

"Blasphemy it may be," Tywin said, "but whatever force that might have had the power to bring us here must have known us… known me." He reached for a wine cup and tasted it, he grimaced and put it back down, "Not nearly strong enough for this manner of talk…" he rubbed his temples and sighed.

"I am afraid I don't grasp the point Lord Tywin," Denethor said.

The other Lord looked back up and met his eyes, "my point, such that there is one, is that any noble house of Westeros could have been brought here, but instead of the Starks or Baratheons it was House Lannister. It is both a flattering thought and a terrifying one, but ultimately I can only come to the conclusion that I was brought here to fight this war. If we should lose…" His face grew dark, "If we should lose then let our resistance stand as a final monument to House Lannister and its glory. We may be destroyed, but if we are, we shall drag a world with us, a world in flames."

"Eloquently put Lord Tywin," Marbrand said nodding.

"Indeed," Denethor said, "but fanciful words do not change our situation."

"No," Tywin said, "they do not, but where 'fanciful words' are useless those spoken in fear and despair can bring defeat where victory was possible."

"Then tell me Lord Tywin," Denethor said with exasperation, "what words would you speak that _are_ useful?"

A strange expression came across Tywin's face, "Tyrion," he said finally, "My son counsels Eowyn of Rohan, who now rules in Theoden's stead. They will answer our call for aid."

 _So eager to call on a son you treated so poorly,_ "Tell me Lord Tywin," he said, "Is Tyrion Lannister a capable young man? Can he bring the Rohirrim to our side?" Now Tywin's expression turned dark, Denethor could tell he struggled with the next few words.

"Yes," Tywin replied slowly, "Tyrion can do this. I will write him and inform him of the situation immediately." He looked at Rohan on the map, there were several carved wooden figures representing armies on it. Tywin moved one from Edoras to the Undeeps in the Wold, "If Jaime can defeat Joffrey's host then the remaining forces in the Westerlands could march against the Wizard, leaving Rohan's army free to meet this Kurgath and his Easterlings in the field."

"That assumes Jaime will be victorious," Imrahil said.

"Jaime _will_ be victorious," Tywin said simply, "I have no doubts as to that. He can then raise a new army from Lannisport and march north against the Wizard." He moved a golden figure representing Jaime's force north into Rohan, "between the Rohirrim and Jaime's forces they can break Isengard within a matter of weeks, leaving us with another army to safeguard our northern front."

"That will still take months," Marbrand said, he turned to Denethor, "How long do we have before the Easterlings can reach the Undeeps?"

"My spies tell me that they are still gathering their men," he replied, "Rhun is vast and as Prince Imrahil said they are divided…" he looked at the map thoughtfully, "perhaps a few months, they may even wait until winter has passed, but then they will be able to cross the Anduin and begin an invasion of Rohan and Northern Gondor. If the Wizard is not dealt with by then…" he sighed, "the war is lost."

"They will be marching far from their homeland," Tywin said suddenly, "these are men, not orcs… men like those in any army out of Westeros. They will need to eat, to drink... what is the terrain like on the far side of the river?"

"Marshes and empty deserts," Imrahil said, "they are called the Brown Lands for a reason. None dwell there."

"After a march through such lands any army would be low on supplies," Tywin said thoughtfully, a predatory expression came over his face and for a moment Denethor was sure the Old Lion was about to smile, "We will burn everything near that crossing," he said, "poison every well, order hunters to kill all game and leave it for the ravens-"

"The men of Rohan would never agree to such desolation!" Imrahil said, "their wealth is in their lands and herds!"

"They have a choice that might seem difficult but is fairly obvious to a thinking man," Tywin said firmly, "they may burn part of Rohan now and yet survive, or they may see it all burned later as their women and children are carried off in chains. I am confident Tyrion will come to the same conclusion when he hears of this Easterling army and he will counsel Princess Eowyn such."

"A bold strategy Lord Tywin," Denethor said, "and one dependent on a number of uncertain victories to have even the slightest chance of success…" he sighed, "but I see no better alternatives. If the Easterlings mean to cross at the Undeeps we will scorch the land before them."

"If there's nothing further I'm going to return to my men," Marbrand said, standing up.

Imrahil stood with him, "I'm afraid I must go with Ser Marbrand, it is our hope that we can train our men together to make cooperation easier in the future." The two men began a discussion of the days maneuvers as they walked out the door leaving Twyin and Denethor alone.

Denethor was about to get up to leave himself before Tywin spoke, "Lord Denethor, if I could request a moment of your time…"

"Of course Lord Tywin," he replied, settling himself back in his chair.

"At all of our meetings you speak of the movements of the enemy," Tywin said, "and judging from what reports reach me you always speak true."

"Maintaining a spy network is among the most essential duties of a ruler," Denethor replied, "as I am sure you well know."

"Of course," Tywin said, taking a drink of wine, "which is why I established my own eyes and ears here when I arrived, mostly I had hoped to ferret out any spies of the enemy that your own network might have missed."

"And?" Denethor asked, "have you found any?"

"Not as of yet," the other lord replied, "but I have noticed something curious about _you_ Lord Denethor."

His eyes narrowed, "and what is that Lord Tywin? Before you speak I would tell you to choose your words carefully."

If the Lannister patriarch noticed his threat it did not show on his face, "You go to your tower alone, sometimes for hours, with the door barred and no others coming or going. Yet when we meet later the same day you always have new information on the enemy's movements, information that should take weeks to reach us from lands such as Rhun or Mordor…"

"We are allies," he said in a low voice, "I would ask that you cease prying into my personal affairs."

"Our personal affairs are one and the same so long as this war continues," the Old Lion said. He paused a moment, as if unsure how to continue, "I have spent my time since the battle of Osgiliath attempting to learn more of Sauron and his history… reading of his wars with Gondor I have learned that the highborn of your kingdom once possessed some sorcery that allowed them to see faraway lands and spy upon their foes."

"The Palantiri, yes," Denethor said, "All were lost I'm afraid."

"Unfortunate," Tywin said dismissively, "but if you should find one it would be best to make its use known so that we might make full and proper use of it." Their eyes met, "Hypothetically of course." Tywin stood up before he could answer, "I'm sure you have much to do, as do I," the Old Lion said.

"Of course," Denethor said sourly, _He thinks a Palantir is a mere tool, he has no idea what strength is needed to gaze into it…_

After Tywin left he sighed angrily and looked over the map. _Rhun…_ he thought bitterly, _merely another of his pawns. Even if we destroy them he has ever more in reserve._ He reached out a hand and knocked over the wooden figure standing on Minas Tirith, _every victory seems to bring us closer to defeat…_

 **A/N: I thought it would be better to "zoom out" a bit and get an idea of the big picture before we return to the ongoing drama in the Westerlands, plus we haven't seen Tywin and Denethor for awhile so I thought it would be good to check in on them since Eomer's trial and the battle of Casterly Rock are probably going to take a fair number of chapters to get through.**


	76. LXXIII The Horselord

**LXXIII**

 **The Horselord**

Eomer stood bound before the tribunal of seven Septons in a small clearing that they had arranged in the middle of their tent encampment. Along with Lancel and a number of other members of the faith some of his own men had been allowed to watch the trial. Lord Westerling had managed to find his way in too, and sat on a large chair someone had brought for him as he drank wine and watched the proceedings.

They had already dragged several men forward as "witnesses" to rant at length on how he had burned copies of the Seven Pointed Star on the campaign trail, spoken curses against the gods, and according to one particularly salacious tale, had taken a pair of married women to his tent and copulated with them loudly throughout the night, causing the men to lose sleep. This, at least, had seemed too much even for Septon Ezekiel. His accuser had ordered the man telling the story removed and had even apologized to Eomer, even as Lord Westerling laughed and asked to hear more.

"Always for the appearance of fairness that one," Septon Archer whispered from his side, gesturing at Ezekiel "watch him though, when push comes to shove he will try any manner of trick to condemn you."

"I believe it," he replied quietly, "I don't think I recognize a single one of these men from the campaign trail…"

"You wouldn't," Archer said, "they were all here."

"Does the accused wish to call any witnesses or present a defense to these claims?" Ezekiel called as the last of the liars left.

Archer stood now, "No we do not Septon Ezekiel," he said, "As he told you before Prince Eomer demands trial by combat."

"Yes about that," Ezekiel began, from the man's face Eomer could tell he was barely suppressing a grin, "the other septons on the tribunal and I have discussed the matter and we have determined that one who is not of the Faith cannot be permitted to partake in one of the most holy sacraments of the Seven."

Archer frowned angrily, "There is no such commandment in the Seven Pointed Star! Followers of the Old Gods and even the Drowned God have always been free to-"

Ezekiel cut him off, "We are not in Westeros any longer Septon Archer." He looked to his compatriots who nodded in agreement, seeing their approval he continued, "We no longer need to accommodate such heathen beliefs."

"Ah! but Prince Eomer is a believer in the light of Eru Iluvitar and the Valar!" Archer said quickly.

At this a number of those watching murmured to themselves, the Septons on the Tribual began speaking openly, "Liar!" yelled one, "Heresy!" yelled another.

Ezekiel banged his gavel loudly, "Silence!" he shouted. He turned back to the two of them, "I have become aware of your "theories" Septon Archer, that these "Valar" are the representation of the Seven in the world of Middle Earth, but I am afraid that at best I can call this heresy." He stroked his chin, "Perhaps we will be having another trial not long after this…"

"Then call it heresy!" Archer shouted angrily, "Call me a heretic as well."

Eomer looked at him shocked, "what are-"

"But in the book of the Crone is it not said that heretics shall always be allowed to partake in a sacrament of the Faith? That they might find their way back to the light?" Archer asked eagerly.

There were murmurs, Ezekiel glowered at him, "That is true… If you wish to declare yourself in heresy Septon Archer you are free to do so, but Prince Eomer is not even a heretic in the eyes of this court."

"He is a follower of my theology," Archer said, sitting back down, "ergo also a heretic."

Ezekiel sighed, "Prince Eomer is this true?"

"If the question is whether or not I believe in Eru Iluvitar and his servants the Valar then the answer is yes," Eomer replied, "May I now demand trial by combat?" There was silence for a moment as waited for the Tribunal to lean in and discuss the matter.

Finally Ezekiel spoke, "You shall receive trial by combat, though since you follow his heresy Septon Archer's life will be tied to the outcome as well."

There were whispers and he looked to Archer, who seemed grim, "I accept these terms," the man said quietly.

"Will you stand for yourself or appoint a champion?" Ezekiel asked.

"For myself," Eomer replied without hesitation, "Who will I be fighting?"

"I shall stand for the Faith!" Lancel said standing up, the quiet was broken by the loud laughter of Lord Westerling.

"Lumpy's going to fight Prince Eomer?" the man wheezed, "Oh gods I'm going to need more wine!"

"I should say you've had enough Lord Westerling," Ezekiel said darkly, "And if you cannot contain yourself you will be ejected from this court."

"Piss on this court!" he said standing up. He turned briefly to one of his men, "come find me when they decide where they're having this thing, I have a feeling it's going to be hard to get seats." He turned to Eomer, "See you at the fight lad!" with that he turned and walked out through the camp, a small retinue of men following him.

"Lord Westerling raises a good point," Septon Archer said after the man had gone, "Where will the trial be held?"

"I think some spectacle is in order," Ezekiel said, "Would the accused find the Mummer's Theater acceptable?"

"If it has flat ground then yes," Eomer said.

"The theater it is then," Ezekiel banged his gavel one final time. "Guards, take the prisoner and his advocate there and inform the interested parties. I'd like to finish this business before the day's end if we could, the Accursed marches on the guilty and the innocent alike."

 _Finally a bit of sense from this fool,_ Eomer thought as they led him away. They chained him again and brought him to a wagon on the edge of the camp. As they opened the door to shove him inside he was surprised to see Septon Archer there bound as well, though only with rope.

"They didn't take me at my word that I wouldn't try to escape," the old man said with a smile. "I saw them sending messengers to the Rock, at the very least we should have a good number of our own friends in the audience."

"You didn't have to put your own life on the line," Eomer said as the carriage began moving.

The septon shrugged, "They would have come for me sooner or later. This way I might at least have time to say my own last rites." The carriage hit a bump causing the older man to flinch in pain as his back struck the wooden paneling. "Do you think you can beat Lancel?"

Eomer snorted, "Lancel Lannister might one day become a fine swordsman, but I doubt he can stand against me for more than a few minutes."

"Then there will be some sort of trick," Archer said, "Ezekiel would have never accepted Lancel as the Faith's champion otherwise. He may even have planned it thus, to show that even a young boy could defeat you."

Eomer felt the sharpened bone he'd made earlier poke at his side as the carriage rocked, "I'll be watching for anything," he said.

They rode in silence for a time until the path evened out, Eomer realized that they were now over the paved roads of Lannisport. The sound of voices outside confirmed his suspicions, soon there was a pattering of thrown objects hitting the sides of the carriage.

"A warm welcome," he muttered.

"Worry yourself with your duel," Septon Archer said dismissively, "there are always those in a city ready to throw things at a formal procession. They might be angry at us, angry at the Faith, or just bored."

They arrived at the theater finally. As they were ushered out and inside he saw that it was a circular wooden structure, perhaps three stories tall, with white exterior paneling. As they walked inside he could see that the center ceiling was open to the sky. There was also a large stage on one side, where he assumed he and Lancel would be fighting, which was situated so that persons on any floor would have a decent view of it. Scaling a small set of stairs they went to a small set of rooms behind the stage area where Eomer assumed the mummers prepared for performances.

"You'll stay back here until things are ready to start," one of the guards said as they shoved Archer and Eomer into separate rooms. He heard the door click behind him and checking the handle he found it was locked.

He took a moment to take in his surroundings, there was a small window, too small to fit through at any rate, on the wall allowing light in, and there was a bench and even a padded chair. It would never be a suitable cell under normal circumstances, but from the noise outside he could tell people were already filling the theater and he would not be here long.

Perhaps two hours later his door swung open revealing Septon Ezekiel and a pair of guards, one armed with a crossbow, the other with a short sword.

"When will I receive my weapons and armor?" Eomer asked as they opened they entered the small room.

"They wait for you on the stage Prince Eomer," Ezekiel replied calmly, "It would be unsuitable to allow you an opportunity to flee before facing justice." He gestured and another man walked into the room carrying a pair of cups filled with wine. He handed them to Ezekiel before turning to leave. "Perhaps a drink before battle?"

"I never drink before a fight," Eomer said, looking the man in the eyes, "Perhaps we'll share a cup afterwards."

A smug smile came over the septon's face, "I'm afraid I must insist." At his words the swordsman drew his blade.

With a scowl Eomer took the closest of the cups, "It seems you've little faith in your gods to give you the outcome you want."

"I believe the Seven will require a much more _active_ priesthood in the near future," the Septon said, "the Wizard Saruman is blessed with the Father's wisdom, and it is his will that our order take control of these lands. The time of nobles and kings is over." He paused and gave Eomer an almost regretful look, "I'm truly sorry it had to come to this, your actions were quite heroic… but the people must see the Faith deliver them from Joffrey's evil, not some foreign prince, and certainly not the Lannisters."

Eomer sniffed the cup, "Poison then? You're not even going to give them a proper show?"

"The first cup is only strongwine," Ezekiel said, "Lancel's idea actually, it seems the boy has a few original thoughts in his head after all." He smiled, "Drink." As he said it the man holding the crossbow leveled it at Eomer's head. With a scowl he began drinking, he tasted nothing but the particularly strong wine the Westerosi were so fond of. When it was empty he threw the cup to the ground in anger.

"There, now let me fight."

"I'm not so foolish as to think a single cup of wine would let Lancel overcome you," Ezekiel said, holding the other cup towards him, "I'm sure we could allow you to drink most of the day away and still find you in a state where you could beat Lancel. This one is a bit more… exotic. It contains a powder from Braavos, in Essos that was. It will stop a man's heart after a few minutes, and I doubt the maesters will notice it missing from their new citadel." Now Ezekiel's lip crept upwards in a cruel grin, "To the eyes of the unknowing you will be struck down by the will of the Seven in the midst of your trial."

 _This is it,_ Eomer thought desperately. As the cup was slowly brought towards his lips his hands went down to his shirt, reaching beneath it his hand gripped the cloth-wrapped grip. The two guards didn't seem to notice his movement, _armed thugs,_ he thought derisively, _no true warriors._

He drew the dagger in a single fluid motion and sprung forward, there was a startled gasp as the man with the crossbow's eyes went wide. Vaguely Eomer was aware of a bolt whizzing past his side, the thud of it embedding itself in the back wall of the room occurring at the same time as the sound of flesh ripping as the sharpened pork bone entered the crossbowman's unprotected neck. Blood splattered across his front as he pulled the dagger free.

He whirled around to see the swordsman had raised his blade and was bringing it down in a hard swing. Dropping the bone knife he spread his hands, causing the chains of his shackles to pull taut, blocking the blade just before it reached his face. With an angry shout he drove forward, pressing the man against the wall, he made contact with the wood with a thudding noise. As they struggled Eomer brought his still shackled wrist against the side of the man's head, the first blow seemed only to stun him, the second caused him to slump limply. As Eomer pulled the steel shackle on his wrist away he saw it was stained with the man's blood. _He won't be getting back up,_ Eomer thought.

He turned slowly to see Ezekiel still standing there, a horrified expression on his face and some of the crossbowman's blood staining his shoes as it pooled on the floor. His hands were shaking, and he dropped the cup as he realized Eomer was looking at him.

He walked forward menacingly, "Do you have keys for these?" he asked holding up his bonds. The other man nodded meekly, struggling to avoid his gaze. "Then unlock them," Eomer growled. The man produced a key and after several tries, the man's hands were shaking so badly he could barely fit the key into the hole, he released the Prince's hands. Taking the key from Ezekiel he bent down and unlocked his legs. When he stood back up Ezekiel was gone, the doorway wide open.

He took a moment to stretch before walking outside. The first cup of wine was starting to affect him now, but as Ezekiel had guessed it only had the effect of lightening his mood and perhaps enhancing his growing indignation at the entire situation. He could hear the sound of the crowd's voices in the main theater, but before walking out onto the stage he took a moment to kick open the wooden door to where Septon Archer was being held.

The older man squinted at the sudden light, "Prince Eomer?" He asked, confused, "I don't understand-"

"Septon Ezekiel wished to discuss the terms of my challenge," he said. A grin formed on his face, probably at least in part due to the wine they'd forced into him, "I suppose you could say we disagreed. Come now, we'll be late." The Septon hesitantly followed him out onto the stage where Lancel was just finishing his explanation of the charges against Eomer.

"Thus for the crimes of Heresy and Apostasy," Lancel said, noticing them coming onstage out of the corner of his eye, "The Faith asks for death and calls upon the Seven to judge Prince Eomer and by extension Septon Archer!"

There were cheers from some of the crowd at that, looking out over the balconies he saw Lords Banefort and Westerling were sharing a box, Westerling was holding a rather large goblet and toasted him with a smile as their eyes met. Scanning the rest of the assembled people of Lannisport he noticed Cerenna in the royal box, looking horrified. He frowned and looked down at himself, realizing he was still covered in the crossbowman's blood. _I must look like a mess,_ he thought, but he shrugged off the momentary embarrassment. Idly he noticed Ezekiel behind the crowd on the ground floor, apparently yelling something to a pair of guards who looked from the Septon and then to him, perplexed. _Too late for any tricks now,_ Eomer thought.

Lancel turned to face him. He wore a shining white suit of armor that was polished to a nearly blinding sheen, and hanging from his shoulders was a red cloak with the seven pointed star of the Faith embroidered upon it. Judging from the way the light shined off the boy's lumpy head he had recently shaved it, the star he'd tattooed on his forehead contrasted with his skin moreso than usual as sweat rolled down his face in the late summer heat.

Lancel's eyes went wide seeing the blood and Eomer gave him a small, almost imperceptible, nod. _That's right Lumpy, things didn't go according to plan._ The crowd was cheering wildly now as they sized each other up, and it was impossible to tell which of the two men they were supporting.

"Prince Eomer," Lancel said hesitantly, "are you wounded?" without waiting for an answer he continued, "we can't have a fair trial if the accused is wounded, if you wish we can postpone-"

"Oh I don't think that will be necessary," Eomer said with a smile as he walked towards his armor and sword. They were piled together on the closest corner of the stage. "Besides!" he called loudly, "We wouldn't want to let these fine people down! They came here to see the will of the Seven!" clapping and shouting erupted from the crowd, Lancel's face went pale as Eomer tightened the straps on his breastplate. After a few moments he was fully armored, drawing his sword he squared off against Lancel.

He smiled and decided to wait a few moments before making any moves, he could tell Lancel was watching him desperately, hoping against hope that he would drop dead. The crowd didn't take this well, at first there was silence but then a chorus of boos and hisses started, growing louder for each moment that neither of them moved.

"Get on with it!" Lord Westerling shouted from the top balcony. A moment later an empty wine cup bounced off the stage in front of them, taking the lord's cue other people were beginning to throw cups, fruit, and clods of dirt onto the stage.

He looked at Lancel, "I suppose we'd best get started… unless you care to yield of course."

Anger flashed in Lancel's eyes, "Never heretic!" He yelled a battle cry which was echoed by the crowd's cheer and he ran forward with his sword raised high. Eomer easily held up his own sword in a block and sidestepped the attack. As Lancel stumbled he stepped back a few feet, giving the boy room to maneuver again.

"Yield boy," Eomer growled, "I'm being far more generous than a traitor like you deserves!"

"The men who follow you are the traitors!" Lancel snarled in response, spittle flecking the edges of his mouth. He tried again to attack Eomer, this time with a series of light jabbing motions intended to force him further into the corner of the stage

Tiring of deflecting Lancel's push he brought his sword up underneath the boy's and stepped forward and past him. Sweeping his foot backwards he sharply kicked the back of the boy's knee, bringing him to the floor with a startled cry.

He spun around and pointed his sword downward at the boy's chest, "Yield," he repeated.

There were tears in the boy's eyes now, and his face burned red with humiliation, "I will not yield to you!" He leaned back on his elbows away from the sword and began struggling to his feet.

 _I should kill him right now,_ Eomer thought angrily, but something, maybe pity, maybe the wine, kept him from dealing the final blow. He sighed as he saw Lancel standing up once more, _it pains me that your kin must see this done to you…_ He shifted the sword in his hand so that the flat, rather than the blade, faced Lancel. He swung it wide without putting much of his strength into it, but there was still a satisfying smacking sound as the sword made contact with the side of Lancel's face. One of his teeth flew into the crowd, a man reached up to catch it but he was soon swarmed with others trying to pry it from him.

Lancel was crying openly now, holding his hand to the side of his face, "W-why-"

Eomer brought the flat of his blade hard against the other side of his head now, eliciting another high pitched scream as Lancel fell to the ground again.

"I Yield!" Lancel sobbed, "I YIELD!" he cried again, this time loud enough that the crowd could hear.

"About damn time," Eomer muttered as he sheathed his sword. The crowd was angry with him now, they'd expected blood and had been denied. He turned to them, about to unleash some anger of his own, when seemingly from nowhere Septon Archer marched in front of him.

"SILENCE!" The old man called in a surprisingly loud voice. The crowd slowly died down, their indignation at Eomer's mercy was still on the air, but they were at least curious to hear what Septon Archer had to say. When he was sure he held their attention the Septon continued, "I do not think it is controversial to say that Prince Eomer has won this trial," he started. One group of men, some of whom Eomer remembered from the march back from the Banefort, cheered at this. Septon Archer waited until they were done before speaking, "But I must now speak against those angry that Lancel Lannister has been spared, everything Prince Eomer has done, from his efforts at the Crag and the Banefort, to his agreement to participate in this… this mummer's farce, have been to prepare us to face our enemy King Joffrey and his army of devils!"

The crowd began murmuring uncomfortably but from the higher balconies where knights and noblemen supportive of Eomer were gathered there was raucous applause and shouts of agreement. Looking upward he saw that while Cerenna was silent, she was nodding with approval and smiling.

"It's true," he said, gently pushing Archer aside, "An army beyond the Faith, beyond the Lannisters, and beyond me now marches towards this city. I stood for this trial not so that I could prove my innocence, but so that the Faith and those who followed me here would not fight one another."

He could tell the crowd was beginning to come to his side, even the members of the Poor Fellows and the rest of those loyal to the Faith were nodding and speaking in hushed tones to one another. He walked over to the part of the stage where Lancel lay, as he approached he could see the bruises already forming on the boy's face.

"Lancel Lannister," he said, reaching a hand down, "Stand."

From the ground Lancel's eyes burned with hatred, but he grasped Eomer's hand anyways and allowed himself to be hoisted up, "If this is some trick-" Lancel began before being cut off.

"There is no trick," Eomer said, keeping his voice loud, _This crowd needs to hear this,_ "I only ask that you stand with me, that you honor the vow you made when you first took me into your custody, to defeat and kill Joffrey Baratheon."

Lancel was quiet, and it seemed that everyone in the theater was now leaning in, hoping to hear any words that passed between the two men.

"I will stand with you," Lancel said quietly, his head low.

"What is that?" Eomer said, "Speak up," _your men need to hear this not me you damned fool._

"I will stand with you!" Lancel shouted.

Eomer nodded and then turned back to the crowd, "Then we ride to war undivided!" he shouted as he held his sword high.

The cheering was the loudest yet.

 **A/N: From here we will probably stay with POVs in the Westerlands until the battle of Casterly Rock is over.**

 **Pyromania101 - That's part of Denethor's rationale for lying about the Palantiri, that and not wanting to share of course**

 **Reader - The status of the Westerlands is mostly just open to speculation at this point, this fic is focused entirely on the Westerlands. On the boards I've posted it on the topic of "what happened to Westeros?" has come up a few times, mostly the readers seem to think that without Lannister influence, and especially without Joffrey, a peaceful resolution to the War of the Five Kings could be found. As to the men in the southern Westerlands I'm sure they're adjusting to their new beachfront property well enough, the Crakehalls can probably teach them how to build docks, lighthouses, and all the other necessities when you've found yourself magically given an oceanfront view. On the topic of Nazgul the winged ones haven't appeared yet, but we're getting there and Tywin probably remembers a few things he read on anti-dragon tactics back in the day.**

 **Weylandcorp4 & Lukas0908 & Hotrod333- You are right that in the face of Sauron's evil Dain is unlikely to totally sit out the War of the Ring even if he's not personally threatened yet.**

 **Window Girl - Thanks for the compliment, I figured Gimli would be a better choice than Legolas to "ease him in" to the Fellowship so to speak.**


	77. LXXIV The Conquering King

**LXXIV**

 **The Conquering King**

Beneath the rising moon Joffrey rode his warg slowly through camp, laughing as it snarled and bit at those goblins who were too slow to get out of his way. Even though they had captured a number of horses he found he preferred riding the oversized wolves, _I'll have stable of them in the Rock,_ he decided. A cruel smile lit up his face, _they will be fed the flesh of any fool who questions my right to rule!_

They were camped twenty miles north of Casterly Rock in the shadow of a great peak that hid the army from the light as the sun vanished over the western sea each evening. They'd come to the shore to meet with the host of House Farman, the master of Fair Isle had raised perhaps two thousand men at arms. Though the lord had displayed some reluctance to meet in the goblin camp the man claiming to be a Reyne bastard had managed to assure him it was safe and the two of them were to meet with him in the Great Goblin's tent to plan their attack on the Rock and Lannisport.

He dismounted his warg and snapped at it, pointing to a pit where a number of the creatures were variously engaged in sleep and play. The creature followed without hesitation now, in the beginning it had often growled at him when given commands, but enough cracks of the whip had finally gotten the creature to the level of obedience he desired.

As he entered the tent Lord Farman, a portly man now in his fifties, stood up from his seat and bowed, "You grace I am honored to meet you," he said.

"Very good that you show the proper respect for your king," Joffrey said, "Rise." The man did so as Joffrey took a place at the end of the table across from the Goblin King. "Has anyone captured Tarbeck yet?" He asked.

"No your grace," Reyne said, his black armor shining in the low torchlight, "King Barg's riders are searching for him but he may have escaped to join the other rebels in Lannisport."

"What happened to this alleged Tarbeck?" Farman asked, "Last I heard he was marching around with this one," he gestured to Reyne.

"When the two of us confronted Prince Eomer's host he and his men turned coward and refused to fight," Reyne said quickly, "I was not able to hold them with only my own men and I was forced to let them escape."

"That bastard," Farman swore, "And now he's run off has he?"

"I decreed that a man who would not raise a hand to the foe needed no hands at all," Joffrey said, leaning back in his chair, "It seems they preferred to turn traitor rather than deal with the consequences of their actions."

"Well there's plenty that can be done about that when they're caught," Barg said grinning. The Great Goblin had taken a great purple silk tablecloth from the Banefort and had draped it around himself as a makeshift toga. "Thumbscrews, a stretching rack, oh it's going to be a hell of a night…"

"Yes…" Farman said uncomfortably, "Turning to the matter at hand, what is our plan? Our host is vast to be sure, but the Rock has never been taken by siege."

"From what I've heard Casterly Rock is a mountain," Barg said dismissively, "and none can match goblins on peaks and in caves save perhaps the dwarves, and even they were wary of facing us there."

"The highest peak where the Lannister citadel sits is nearly a sheer cliff," Farman said, "I find it difficult to believe even your armies could climb that while under fire from archers and crossbowman."

"We will need to take the gate," Joffrey declared, "From there we can fight our way through the fortress and take the citadel from beneath. Once we hold the Rock everyone will know _I_ am the true king of the Westerlands, not my doddering old fool of a grandfather."

"The main gate is little better your grace," Farman said, "It's wide enough that twenty men can ride side by side through it, it is guarded by tall towers and there are many barracks and armories near to it. It would be difficult to break it even if you had a ram strong enough-"

"The main gate's walls are the rocks of the mountain," Joffrey said, "too steep and rocky for men or horses…"

"But easily scalable for goblins," The Great Goblin said beaming, "We've discussed this at length Lord Farman, I believe the most difficult matter will be meeting them in the field before we can reach the fortress."

"What about Lannisport?" Reyne asked, "What about the city watch? It wouldn't do for us to get penned inside by them. They're well trained men, I ran into trouble there once and had to kill one of them. He might not have been as good a swordsman as a knight, but he was better than the rabble I'm leading."

"Lannisport is full of smallfolk," Joffrey said dismissively, "They will fall in line once my standard flies over Casterly Rock. If not then we can pacify the city."

"I'm looking forward to it," Reyne said with a cruel smile.

"I like this one!" Barg said with a chuckle, "he does raise a valid point King Joffrey, once the gate is taken we will need to leave a part of the host outside. Once we have taken the Rock we can give them leave to fall upon Lannisport."

"I'll command there then," Reyne said, "Any objections?"

"Consider the post yours," Joffrey said, "Is there anything else to be settled?"

"Your family my king," Farman said suddenly, "If any Lannisters are to be captured what are you orders? What about your brother prince Tommen?"

 _Tommen,_ he thought angrily, "I don't care whether that little worm lives or dies, but mother is fond of him. I suppose if it can be managed he should be taken alive." He thought a moment, "I don't know what's become of my uncle Daven, but if he should turn up kill him."

"Before we wrap this up there's one more thing your highness," Barg said, "The terms of our _reward_ seem to be a bit… fluid. I'd hoped we could firm them up somewhat."

Joffrey stroked his chin, "A third of the gold in Casterly Rock along with all that has been taken from the Banefort and the Crag sounds fair to me."

The Great Goblin frowned, "Little king it would not do to be so stingy with those who bled and died to put you on your throne… I think _half_ of the gold in Casterly Rock is more appropriate." His smile returned, "As well as your promise that we may mine and dwell in the mountains of your kingdom. These peaks are perfect for us, full of gold and there're no dwarves either."

 _Fat greedy fool,_ he thought. Still, he had come to appreciate the Goblin king's help, and it would be helpful to have a friendly army on hand…

"Half the gold then, and of course you may dwell in any mountain _not already in use._ "

Barg laughed loudly, "No fool this one! To our eternal friendship then! I'll order the lads to begin moving!"

"A march?" Farman asked, surprised, "At night?"

"This bunch prefers to move under moonlight," Reyne explained, "Can't say I haven't grown a bit fond of it myself!"

The four of them left the tent, Reyne and Farman each walking towards their respective camps. Barg waddled next to him and looked up to the stars.

"A good night," he stretched and looked down to Joffrey, "Will you be with me in the wagons or are you going to be with the warg riders?"

"The riders," Joffrey said, "I'm a warrior king now, like my father. I will take my rightful place in the vanguard."

"I'll assign you some of my better guards when we get there then, can't have the King killed in battle now can we?"

Joffrey nodded, "You have my thanks. Is my armor ready yet?"

"Ask the smiths about it," Barg said scratching a red patch on his girth, "I think you looked fine in the old stuff, but I suppose a king must have certain status symbols."

An hour later the army was on the move. Joffrey was pleased to discover his armor was completed, a black spiked piece with gold trim that he had described from his memory of what his father had worn in the dream that had started him on his quest. The helmet had an open face and a pair of stag antlers in the style of the knights of the Baratheon family.

The march itself was a spirited affair. They had brought a number of wagons with them from the villages and towns around the Banefort and the Crag, and though most were full of loot the Great Goblin had set aside two of them to carry a group of drummers and horn blowers respectively. He smiled as the high trilling call of the horns punctuated the steady beat of the drums and the goblins cheered and the silhouettes of bats passed in front of the moon.

"You see _this_ is how a man becomes great," he turned to see Reyne riding close to him, the man's horse snorting nervously at the wolf Joffrey rode. "I've spent a good forty years getting by through begging, borrowing, and stealing, all along looking for the right opportunity to get somewhere… Now look at me! Leading men and getting ready to loot Tywin Lannister's treasury!"

"Rest assured Lord Reyne your ancestral lands will be returned to you when we are victorious," Joffrey said looking ahead, "I will not trample on my lords rights like my grandfather did."

"My ancestral lands," The man snorted, "Of course my lord." He stroked his chin a moment, "Might I perhaps receive the Tarbeck lands as well? They are close by and Lord Tarbeck has certainly invalidated any claim he might have had by his treason."

"They are yours," Joffrey replied, "You seem to be a firm believer in discipline, perhaps you can keep those bumbling peasants in line the next time their services are needed."

There was a commotion somewhere ahead, "Oh gods what now," Reyne sighed. He drew his sword. Peering ahead in the dark Joffrey saw several goblins in the front of the column fall to the ground as arrows came out of the gloom. There was a sound of hooves from their left, his warg growled angrily and Joffrey realized that the charge would soon strike them.

"Where is lord Farman?" He asked hurriedly.

"I don't know," Reyne said, looking around frantically, "Why?"

"He has pikemen!" Joffrey said.

Realization flashed across the man's face, "I think I saw his men further back!" The two of them spurred their mounts back as the rest of the army formed ranks to meet the coming charge. He heard the yelling of men's voices and he saw the three ships of House Farman on a banner waving in the moonlight.

"Part!" he shouted, "Part for your king!" maybe the men recognized him from his walks through their camp, maybe they recognized the Baratheon horns, but for whatever reason the men closest to him moved to allow him and Reyne to ride into their center. He saw Lord Farman shouting orders from atop his own mount and rode to his side.

"King Joffrey!" Farman shouted, "Stay behind the line! They'll be after you!" he looked with some disdain at Reyne, "Don't your own men need you to command them?"

"They're bringing up the rear, they'll be fine!" Reyne yelled, "Get your pikes lowered damn it! They're coming!" As he said it a line of horses appeared out of the darkness, squinting Joffrey made out the seven pointed star of the Faith on their banners.

"What in the name of the gods-" Farman started

"For the Warrior!" someone shouted, and a chorus went up around it, "FOR THE WARRIOR!" a number of spears flew from the horsemen into the ranks of pikemen, though none came close Joffrey found himself involuntarily flinching. A few of the horsemen kept coming and crashed into the pike wall, impaling themselves and their horses, which died with loud screams, their blood spraying on the ground.

The rest of the horsemen veered away from them and back into the dark, one of them paused, pointing at him and holding a sword high, "HEATHEN!" he shouted angrily, "We are punished for your sins Joffrey!"

It took him a moment to recognize the figure with the shaved head and a star tattoo on his forhead, " _Lancel?"_ he mouthed in shock.

"Accursed!" Lancel shouted, "The wrath of the Seven descends upon you!" With that Lancel's horse galloped after his fellows. A few minutes later it was clear the attack was over, he looked at the line of pikemen to see that at least a dozen of them were dead, with a few more wounded.

"An ambush," Reyne said from his side, "I've done a few in my time, they know they can't kill too many of us but they might be able to slow us down by making us stop for the wounded."

"Then we won't," Joffrey said angrily. "Lord Farman!" he shouted.

"Yes my liege!" the fat man cried.

"Leave behind any man who cannot march, that's an order!"

Farman seemed uncertain, "Your grace that's…"

"I am your _King!"_ Joffrey screamed, "If I tell you to douse yourself in oil and light it you will do so!"

"I am yours to the end, but you cannot so callously throw these men's lives away!" Lord Farman protested

" _Everyone_ is mine to do with as I please," he said, "Do as I say!"

"Of course your grace…" Farman muttered, "Leave the wounded!" he yelled. The men stared at him in shock, "Leave the damn wounded!" he shouted again angrily. He turned back to Joffrey, "Satisfied?"

"Yes," he said, "there is only room in the future for those who look forward Lord Farman!"

"We ride to a glorious future then!" Lord Reyne said, "Let it be known that House Reyne _always_ looks forward!"

"Good to see that someone is," Joffrey said angrily, "Gold and glory awaits, march!" With his words the men slowly fell into line and started moving as the goblins found their formations again. After they'd gone a few hundred feet there were screams from the wounded men behind them, they were quickly cut off as the remaining goblins marched past. He could hear laughing goblins behind them.

"Sounds like they received mercy," Reyne said, seeing Farman's face.

The lord of Fair Isle looked like he wanted to say something but was at a loss for words, "Y-yes… mercy," He said finally.

"A reminder of what awaits failures in my Kingdom," Joffrey sneered. In the distance he could see the outline of Casterly Rock, a few of the lights in the tallest towers could be seen twinkling even from here. He smiled, _soon I'll have what's mine… The time has come for the return of the king!_

 **A/N: Sorry this one took so long, it's been a busy week for me.**

 **Pyromania101 - Don't worry Ezekiel was telling the truth, the first cup was just wine to help disorient him, the second cup was the poison.**

 **Joshtong123 - Thanks! There's definitely some things that happened/will happen as in canon, but I agree with you that it's annoying when crossover fics just keep everything the same.**

 **Spellweaver10 - Welcome to the story! I'm both impressed and flattered that you read the entire thing over the course of a couple days. Anyways to a few of your points**

 **Shipping - Oh gods it's a shipping war! The Lannister twins are on paths to redemption and it's my hope to convincingly make them different people at the end of this thing than they were at the beginning. As for the age issue there's only a few years between them, though I suppose due to his lengthened lifespan Faramir is "younger" in the sense that he probably looks like he's in his 20's despite being in his mid 30's and he ultimately makes it to 120 in canon. Now that I think about it I wonder if old Walder Frey has some Numenorean in him... nah, too ugly.**

 **Length - would you believe I thought this thing was going to be 80k words when I started it? Live and learn I suppose.**


	78. LXXV Cerenna Lannister

**LXXV**

 **Cerenna**

The atmosphere in the Rock was tense, Lancel and Eomer had returned from a raid on the approaching army that morning and word had it that the siege would begin when the sun set and Joffrey's army arrived. She knew from the servants talking that a number of people had fled Lannisport, and there was talk among some the servants of doing the same.

She had tried to calm herself by enjoying a book in her room but after an hour of rereading the same few sentences over and still being unable to process them she'd sighed and gotten up to look for Myrielle. She found her sister and her aunt Genna in a large lounge on the far side of the citadel at the top of the Rock.

"And be sure there's plenty of food," Genna was saying absently, "In fact I think you should go down to the kitchens Myrielle and tell them to start smoking a pig."

Seeing her face her sister mouthed, " _run!"_ but Genna had already turned to see her.

"Ah Cerenna, I'm glad you're here," her aunt said, "Your sister and I were just planning how we'll all be spending the evening, I could use another lady to help."

"I'm afraid I don't follow," she said uncertainly.

"It's been decided that the women and children will spend the battle back here, it's far from the main hallways and it has a good thick door," Genna replied. A wry smile came across her face, "It should be a pleasant party, there will be wine, food, and maybe even a few minstrels."

"Don't forget Ilyn Payne," Myrielle muttered.

"Ser Ilyn will be acting as our guard yes," Genna said sternly, "You will not be disrespectful to him, he has bled for this family."

 _He has bled people for this family,_ Cerenna thought. The man had always frightened her and Myrielle, and as children they'd hidden behind Daven when he was introduced at feasts and parties. As she'd grown older and learned more about him the feeling had changed from the irrational fear of childhood to the cold terror of an adult.

Seeing her look Genna sighed, "He is only a man Cerenna, he is terrifying by design… both his own and ours. A great number of men will die tonight, if they can face that you can stand a night in the same room as Ilyn Payne."

 _He's not going to be here for our protection,_ Cerenna thought to herself, _he's going to be here so that if the battle is lost…_ she shuddered. She'd read enough about orcs and heard enough from the refugees coming from the North to understand why Genna did not want the noble ladies taken alive. Their eyes met a moment and she realized that her aunt guessed her thoughts.

"You are a perceptive girl Cerenna," she said quietly. She turned back to Myrielle who was looking at them both with confusion, "Myrielle go and fetch some new cushions for that couch there. I'm not sitting on an old soup stain all night."

"But aunt Genna," Myrielle protested, "can't a servant-"

"I have already given them tasks, now go!" Myrielle grumbled but left, leaving the Cerenna alone with her aunt.

"I've been meaning to talk to you Cerenna," Genna began, "I have come to believe that if a Lannister is going to be marrying into the royalty of Rohan it is likely to be you."

"T-that would be for Prince Eomer to decide," Cerenna said nervously. Her aunt's sudden stern demeanor was unsettling.

"Leave aside talk of the Prince for a moment," Genna said, "you are potentially on the brink of power Cerenna, _real_ power. I understand that you have had a lot on your mind, we all have, but I would make sure you understand the gravity of what you would be agreeing to. The life of a queen would be much different from the life of a noble lady. The decisions you make will have real consequences, and if you make the wrong ones people will suffer."

"I've read the biographies of several kings aunt Genna," she replied, "I know what happens to a kingdom with unfit rulers."

"Reading a history to understand that seems superfluous when the sum of Cersei's mistakes is marching toward us as we speak," Genna said, a hint of anger creeping into her voice. "I doubt that you could ever fail your subjects as spectacularly as she has, but Stafford did not raise you and Myrielle to be queens."

"So what would you have me do then?" Cerenna asked, "There are few queens around the Rock these days for me to learn from."

"I suppose if I'd known this was coming I might have taken a more active role in your education," she sighed, "but for now I can only offer advice; whether Tywin would admit it or not Tyrion has always taken after him more than his other children. Seek his counsel on matters of statecraft and he will not disappoint you."

She nodded, "I will," this talk of ruling was making her nervous. "Is there anything else?"

"I've never been a queen child," she said in a tired voice, "I think the rest you will have to learn on your own."

Myrielle returned then with the cushions, "These were all I could find," she said dumping the pair on the floor.

"Why don't you two go tour the kitchens," Genna said, "Once the servants have their instructions you might go and see Prince Eomer in the barracks." A small smile came over her face, "I'm going to go see Emmon myself later… it's good for women to see men off before battle." She paused, "war is terrible to be sure, but there's something about it that puts a certain _fire_ into men, even ones like my husband. I'm sure Prince Eomer is in an "interesting" state of mind as well."

Rather than wait to see if her aunt would say more things to make her blush Cerenna left the room with Myrielle in tow, who laughed as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Can you believe that?" her sister said, "I'm sure Prince Eomer is in an interesting state of mind!" she said mocking their aunt's voice.

"Myrielle," Cerenna said slowly, "did you by chance tell anyone about my visit with the Prince?"

"Well Thomasina Hawthorne wanted to know how he got the idea to ask for Septon Archer to represent him," her sister said, "So I explained that you had disguised yourself and gone to see him alone."

"Myrielle!" She said miserably, "Don't you realize how that sounds? And Thomasina Hawthorne too! Gods she's going to tell everyone he took my maidenhead down in that camp!"

"Well…" Myrielle began hesitantly, "that's _sort of_ romantic isn't it?"

"We only kissed," she said sharply.

"Fine I'm sorry!" Myrielle said, "look if you want to go see him again I'll go take care of the kitchen staff on my own…"

"If I do are you going to tell everyone he ravished me on the eve before battle?" she asked bitterly.

"I said I was sorry Cerenna, now do you want to go or not?" Myrielle asked angrily.

Cerenna sighed, "Yes, I'd appreciate that. _Please_ don't tell anyone though."

"On my honor I shan't tell a soul without your permission," Myrielle giggled.

Cerenna frowned, she didn't care for the laughter, but she left in the direction of the barracks anyway. As she descended into the rock she saw fewer servants and more soldiers and guards until finally after perhaps a half hour of walking she reached the wider and more decorated hallways of the knights quarters, where visiting noblemen usually stayed while their men at arms roomed in common bunks on a lower level. There were windows here, narrow and slanted, bringing in light from the afternoon sun outside. She recognized few of the soldiers, they were not Lannister men but the mix of those from the Banefort and the Crag. A few of them nodded at her as she went by. She knocked on Eomer's door, marked with a small cloth flag bearing the white stallion of Rohan.

"Enter," she heard his voice call. She opened the door and stepped inside. The quarters were almost as large as her own, with a number of padded chairs, bookshelves, and other luxuries for entertaining. Eomer was hunched over a desk studying a series of maps. He was already armored.

"I thought that I might come and wish you well before you ride to battle," she said.

He chuckled, "I don't know if that was a good idea. I don't know if you've heard yet but they think we-"

"I've traced _that_ rumor to my sister Myrielle," she said, "she seems to have started it entirely by accident." She looked over the table at the map, "How goes the battle planning?"

"As good as can be expected I suppose," Eomer muttered, "The alleged Lord Tarbeck showed up a few hours ago with his men. Apparently he didn't get the welcome he expected at Joffrey's camp and has decided to fight with us. I've been trying to find a place for them but Ser Stafford doesn't want a thousand untrained peasants and Lancel of all people is refusing to fight alongside "traitors."

She thought back to what she'd heard earlier, "The city watch!" she said suddenly, "You could give Tarbeck orders to reinforce them! They've got to be stretched to the breaking point with all the panicked smallfolk, and if the city comes under attack they'll do more good there anyways!"

He stroked his chin a moment, "That could work… by the time the enemy reaches the city I'm certain that any old feuds between the Lannisters and the Tarbecks will be forgotten and they'll be willing to stand alongside one another..."

"What of Jaime's army?" she asked.

"Still perhaps a day away," Eomer growled, "leaving us outnumbered by at least four to one. Lancel says that Lord Farman has joined with Joffrey as well, though I'm sure after a day or two of marching with an army of orcs they'll be easy enough to scatter."

"Leaving only the army of goblins to deal with," she said wryly.

"Believe it or not the men are in high spirits," Eomer said, "they've been told Jaime's arrival is imminent, and with everyone fighting together there's a certain sense of comradery in the air. Even the members of the Faith Militant have calmed considerably now that Ezekiel and his cohorts have fled south."

"Do you think we can win?" she asked.

"No battle is certain until it is concluded," the prince replied. He stood up and walked away from the table, "but I think that you came here to talk about what might happen after this one is over."

She smiled, "And you are right to think that… tell me what happens Prince Eomer."

"Ser Stafford has promised me all I can desire and more," he said as he walked closer to her, "gold, men, food, everything that will be needed to free Rohan from Saruman and rebuild it once the war is over."

"Did my family offer anything else?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yes your aunt Genna had a suggestion," he said.

 _He's teasing me now,_ she thought with some annoyance, "And what was that?"

"She said that I might take any lady of the Westerlands I desired back to Rohan with me as my bride, to cement the friendship between our peoples."

She waited for him to speak for another moment but he stayed quiet, staring at her, "Did you make a decision?" she asked slowly.

A grin slowly formed on his face, "I turned her down of course. It would be selfish and cruel of me to take a girl from her homeland as a spoil of war, even to cement an alliance that might help my people."

"Would you take home a wife free from all such trappings then?" She asked quietly, "A woman who has simply grown… fond of you?"

He walked to her and put his arms around her waist, "I would be willing to do that, yes." She closed her eyes and their lips met again in a kiss, where their first had been rushed this was slow and tender. For a moment she felt as though she were standing on nothing at all as his strong arms pulled her close.

She wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, but at some point she felt him pull away. She opened her eyes again to see him smiling at her.

"When the battle is won I will come find you and we will discuss this further," he said in a low voice, "but I must continue my preparations."

"I-I understand," she stammered, "see that you do… find me that is." She cleared her throat, "I'm going to go and join my Aunt Genna, she is preparing accommodations for the other ladies tonight…"

"Until we meet again Cerenna Lannister," he said with a smile as she walked out the door.

 _That was…_ she took a deep breath, she felt anxious and giddy at the same time. _Is this love?_ She thought absently as she walked back to the higher levels of the Rock. As she neared the large chamber where they would be spending the evening Myrielle spotted her and walked over quickly.

"Well?" she asked with a smug smile.

"I don't think I should tell _you_ anything," she said with a grin of her own, "but since you're my sister… I think I'll be going to Rohan soon."

Myrielle barely subdued a squeal, "Gods Cerenna this is like a story out of the age of heroes!"

 _Or the First Age,_ she thought to herself. Hearing their conversation Genna walked towards her from where she was overseeing a pair of servants arranging a food display near one of the windows.

"Is it done?" she asked simply.

"Yes aunt Genna," Cerenna replied, remembering their earlier conversation.

"Good," she said nodding, "we won't speak of it now, try to enjoy the evening."

Other ladies were beginning to arrive now, and a pair of guards flanked young Tommen who wore a small sword on his wasteband and a suit of child's armor.

"Tommen's going to be with us?" she asked Genna.

"Stafford and I decided he was too young to squire in a fight of this scale," Genna said, "we were also concerned that if Joffrey discovered Tommen was on the battlefield he might seek him out."

The sun drew low in the sky and for a time it seemed that most of them were able to forget the battle and pretend this was nothing more than a party. There were simple bunkbeds pushed against the walls and a few ladies were already setting their things on some of them. She smiled as a boy and girl, both under ten years old, began fighting over who would take the top bunk. There was a small balcony facing westward overlooking the sea. The sun was disappearing now and the room was lit by torchlight, the mood began to change and she was suddenly more aware of Ilyn Payne standing by the door, the low light reflecting in his smooth bald head as he scanned the room.

"Let's get some fresh air," Myrielle said, eyeing the mute knight uneasily. The two of them walked out onto the balcony and looked at the emerging stars. "Do you think we'll be able to see anything from here?" her sister asked.

"No," Cerenna replied, "they won't be close enough to the waterfront. We might hear the sounds of battle though..." she squinted as a dark shape passed in front of a cluster of stars, then another and another.

"What's that?" her sister asked, having spotted it too. A low squeaking sound came from somewhere overhead.

She suddenly remembered some of the tales she'd read of the first age and her face went white, "GET INSIDE!" she screamed, grabbing Myrielle's arm and dragging her forcefully back into the chamber. All conversation had stopped as everyone looked at her curiously. "Shut the doors!" she shouted, "By the Seven close off the balcony!"

The dark shapes could be seen coming closer now and the shrieking cries audible even inside the Rock. Women screamed and children cried as Tommen's guards rushed forward and slammed the thick wooden doors closed.

"The windows!" someone shouted, but it was too late as one of the shadowy forms crashed through the glass. As it flew into the light she could see it was a bat, though one at least the size of a dog, and with a wingspan as long as the length of her arms. With a booming monotone shout Ilyn Payne drew his sword and ran towards the flying form, which seemed disoriented in the light. There was a sound of ripping flesh and the bat fell the floor in two still twitching pieces. Not stopping for a moment Payne tipped one of the food tables over, spilling its contents onto the carpet. With a great heave he lifted it up vertically, blocking the window completely. She saw with some relief that Tommen's guards had done the same with the drink table, sealing the creatures outside.

There was chaos in the room now as women held their crying children close. Even Genna, normally stoic and impassive, looked pale as she stared at the remains of the creature on the floor. Idly she noticed that Tommen had drawn his little sword, though his hand was shaking and he looked as though he were about to cry.

From somewhere outside she heard horns bellowing.

 **A/N: I decided to return to DC79's semi-OC Cerenna for this one to show a bit of a "civilian" perspective.**

 **Pyromania101 - Lancel's in it to win it now, he's got to try and salvage at least a little of his dignity after all.**

 **DuesalBladesinger - yes the "return of the king" bit brought a smile to my face.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Reyne has decided to double down on being an asshole, Farman is obviously regretting his decision about now but he can hardly betray them when he's marching in the middle of their army.**

 **N - Don't worry, I use the imagery of the movies sometimes but Gondor in this is a full country with an army in the tens of thousands.**


	79. LXXVI The Horselord

**LXXVI**

 **The Horselord**

Eomer gripped his lance tight, anticipation and anxiety coming over him. _This_ was where he was supposed to be, spear in hand, at the head of a host of riders prepared for battle. The past few weeks had been grueling, dealing with the internal politics of the Westerlands had stretched his patience to the breaking point. The only thing which kept him going at times was his duty to avenge Theodred, a duty impossible without the help of these foreigners. Now though, looking back at the assembled banners, it almost seemed worth it.

The torches held high by the enemy were coming into view now, providing him and his men a reminder of how badly they were outnumbered. He heard one of the Faith's soldiers blowing a brass instrument he knew was used in their religious ceremonies, it was soon joined by a low sound that Cerenna had told him was supposed to resemble a lion's roar blown from a pair of trumpets by Ser Stafford's guards, and finally from his side Podrick puffed his chest outward and blew a horn one of Eomer's men had given him, joining the high call of Rohan to the battle cries echoing over the hills. The excitement from the men behind him was short lived, the goblins replied with their own trilling horns and drums, easily drowning out theirs.

"Should I blow the horn again Prince Eomer?" Podrick asked behind him. Overhead there was a rustle of wings as the cacophony excited the bats, eager to feed on the dead and dying.

"No," Eomer said, "our answer will be steel." He turned to face his men. Perhaps six thousand in total rode behind him, mostly the same ones who had followed him from the Banefort, "Prepare to attack!" he shouted, causing a cheer to go up as several standards raised, and the horsemen readied their lances.

In a separate column to his east Lancel, with a host of over eight thousand, lead the armies of the Faith, though only perhaps a tenth of them were mounted and none were as well equipped as his own men. To his West Ser Stafford lead the Lannister household troops and those that had been raised from nearby lands, two thousand well trained men that would bring up the rear. Privately he and Ser Stafford had agreed that they would not permit Lancel and his men to stand between them and the gates of the Rock, if Lancel suspected this in during the battle planning he'd said nothing.

From the three armies knights and horsemen trotted forward, separating into two groups. One was made of his own men, and he looked to see Lancel and his cavalry riding to join with him as they slowly moved towards the eastern flank of the approaching army. To his left Stafford's horsemen formed into a tight block and headed towards the west.

Though the terrain near Lannisport was full of hills the goblin army was now coming onto a flat plane that lead up to the Rock itself. The day before he'd sent a small army of squires, criminals, beggars, and every spare hand that could be found out onto the field with shovels and picks with the orders to remove the large stones and smooth any pits or holes, the last thing he wanted was his horse breaking a leg in a gopher hole in the dark. There would be nothing to stop or slow them now.

 _The distance is right,_ he thought to himself, "Forth! And fear no darkness!" he cried. He lowered his lance, leveling it with the enemy, now only a few hundred yards away, "CHARGE!" a maddened scream rose behind him as he spurred his horse forward.

As the drumbeats of the hooves against the ground echoed behind him he heard the telltale sound of arrows flying through the air, a moment later the first of the black crusted projectiles began landing among them. A smile crossed Eomer's face as a louder _whoosh_ passed overhead as thousands of crossbow bolts from the Lannister lines landed among the Goblins in front of him, causing screaming and chaos among them. Even those who had managed to find a spear or pike to hold were wavering.

He veered his column left towards the side of the enemy army, their numbers were too great for a cavalry charge to break through their center, and as they passed he could see that the well armored men of Fair Isle were there with their pikes lowered anyways, but goblins on the flanks were the same orc rabble that had broken before Rohirrim charges for generations.

There was a sound like a thunderclap as they made contact with the first line of goblins, he saw the fear and shock in the eyes of his first kill as he drove his spear through it's chest, causing it to fly backwards into the tightly packed mass of enemy soldiers. As he rode through them he speared another, and then another, until finally his lance became stuck in one and was ripped away from him. Bloodlust had overtaken him now and he drew his sword without hesitation.

He meant to shout another battle cry, but as he opened his mouth he found he could only join in with the angry cries of the men riding behind him. He brought his sword down on the head of one orc who had turned to flee, then swung backwards again to slice the neck of an orc who tried to stick a cruel looking trident into his horse's side. Suddenly, as if he'd dunked his head underwater and then surfaced again, the noise of battle ceased and he realized he'd emerged on the other side of the enemy line.

Regaining his senses he brought the riders wide and past the enemy again. This time instead of charging into their ranks a number of spears and a few arrows and crossbow bolts flew into the now panicked horde. They passed the entirety of the enemy again before fleeing back towards the now advancing line of infantry. On the other side of the field he could see Ser Stafford's men rejoining their own force.

"Damn brilliant!" Westerling shouted as he rode by, "you and Stafford must've killed hundreds!"

"Thousands," Eomer replied. He looked back to Podrick, "Where is lord Banefort?"

"H-he didn't make it," Podrick said, still flush with excitement, "Lord Banefort fell to an arrow during the initial charge."

"Damn shame," Westerling swore, "he was a good man..."

"There will be time to mourn him later," Eomer said, fighting to hold his own anger at bay. He hadn't know the man long but it was still shocking to hear of his death. He sighed, _he won't be the last to go tonight either,_ "March!" he shouted angrily, "We need to hit them while they're disoriented!"

Westerling nodded and shouted orders as the three hosts marched towards the enemy army, still scrambling to get it's edges back in formation after the twin charges. Several volleys fired overhead as they moved forward and he watched with satisfaction as another rank of goblins fell and the panic increased. At least a few hundred arrows flew at them from somewhere within the panicked mass, but the armor and shields of the first rank of infantry were thick, forged by the finest smiths in Lannisport.

 _They didn't expect it to be this hard,_ he thought, watching the larger orcs, officers he guessed, struggling to maintain order and formation. _They've plundered their way down here mostly unopposed while we fled…_

"Form on me!" he called to the cavalry again as they trotted alongside the infantry, "we will charge again at their center! Westerling!"

"Yes Prince Eomer?"

"Bring the infantry in behind our attack and signal for Lancel to do so as well, if we can break their center we can break their host."

"At once," Westerling replied, gesturing to his standard bearer, who raised a checkered flag up the pole for Lancel to see. "Do you want Ser Stafford's men as well?" he asked.

"No," Eomer said, "Hold them back in case any of them get around us, I don't want the foe between us and the gate." He noticed the other men were already holding new lances and he looked around suddenly, "where can I get a-"

"Here prince Eomer!" Podrick said from his side, holding a fresh spear to him.

"Thank you Podrick," he said as he took it from the boy, _perhaps there's something to be said for having a squire after all._ The two forces were drawing near to one another, arrows and bolts were being traded with greater frequency, "Charge!" he yelled again, and the cavalry followed him forward. This time the front rank of infantry joined them as they shouted.

There was a sudden howling sound and the goblins parted to reveal dozens of massive wargs ridden by crazed looking orcs. Barking and snarling they ran forward, startling the horses and causing the men, who had never seen or fought such creatures, to panic.

"Rohirrim to me!" he shouted, and those who remained of his countrymen crowded close to him as he brought his horse to a halt. Raising his spear high he threw it, knocking one of the warg-riders from his mount and causing him to tumble into the dirt. "Men of the Westerlands stand!" he shouted, but it was too late, the charge was broken and looking back he saw that the wargs were wreaking terror upon the Westermen.

"Hold!" Westerling shouted defiantly, holding a spear high, "They're just big dogs you bastards!" as he said it one of the wargs leapt clear over the first rank of men, causing the second row to scream as the beast gripped a crossbowman's head in it's jaws and violently shook it, causing a sick cracking sound. No less than a dozen men ran forward to stab at it, but the chaos was being repeated up and down the line. Already he saw that some of Lancel's rear soldiers were taking the opportunity to flee the battle, running towards the safety of the Rock or Lannisport. Another group of wolf riders was emerging from the enemy force now, this one lead by a black armored figure with stag horns protruding from his helmet.

As the face came into view he sneered, "Joffrey Baratheon!" he suddenly wished he hadn't already thrown his spear. Joffrey seemed to recognize him too, and he turned the group of wolves towards Eomer, a cruel grin on his face. Eomer very nearly spurred his own horse forward to meet the boy king, but Joffrey fell back at the last second allowing his warg riders to meet the Rohirrim. Instead Joffrey pulled a long whip from his back as his mount slowly trotted forward, cracking it high over their heads causing the men to duck and curse.

The whip flew close again and Podrick screamed suddenly at his side, dropping the banner and bringing his hands to his now bleeding face, "Podrick!" he shouted. Moving closer he saw the sobbing boy lower his hands, revealing a deep gash just below his eye and tracing across his cheek. He sighed with relief, "tear a strip of cloth and put pressure on it."

"But Prince Eomer," the boy said, trying to hold back further tears, "the banner-"

"Forget the damn banner!"

Westerling was beginning to get the men back in a proper formation now, and the wolf riders were starting to drop from spear thrusts and crossbow fire. It was too late to matter though, the Goblins had regained their footing too and now ran at them, cackling and screaming madly. He noticed Joffrey falling back and swore under his breath.

"Back to the line!" Eomer shouted, causing the cavalry to fall in behind him as his horse galloped back towards Westerling's men. "Podrick get to the center and get yourself bandaged!" he shouted as he brought his horse around to face the approaching goblins.

The knights who made up the first rank of men held up well, most were big men who towered over the goblins and could handle them easily enough unless they were separated from their fellows. The second rank of men intermittently fired crossbow bolts out while pulling wounded or overwhelmed men back and letting fresh fighters reach the front line.

Eomer took a moment to survey the battlefield. Several flocks of bats had descended on the parts of the field the armies had first met on, sucking on the corpses and growing bloated on the blood of men and orcs alike. To his right the Faith's remaining men were holding well enough, and he saw Lancel himself giving orders and organizing a volley into an approaching group of orcs. Overall though the momentum of the battle had shifted, he realized that it was now impossible to force the goblin host into an easy route.

"I think they're going to flank us soon!" Lord Westerling said, walking towards him as screams and clanging steel punctuated the air, "We won't last long if we're surrounded!"

"I know," Eomer said. He sighed, "Signal Lancel, we're going to have to pull back towards the Rock and fight in front of the gate. With the walls and towers of the Rock behind us they'll be forced to meet us head on, if we are overwhelmed there we can withdraw inside."

There was a sudden call of horns from the direction of the gate, Eomer turned and saw with dismay that Ser Stafford's army was retreating inside the Rock.

"What are those cowards doing?" Westerling asked incredulously.

"They're no cowards," Eomer said bitterly, "look!" he pointed to the walls of the Rock. It was difficult to make out in the moonlight but there was movement along the sloping rock that protected the gate. "They're going up the mountain, they must have split a portion of their force away when they hit us with the wolves!"

Realization and then horror flashed across Westerling's face, "They'll be able to shut us out! We'd be pinned between the walls and these bastards!" He looked to the men, still locked in combat against the goblins, "retreat! We go to the Rock! Retreat!"

"Retreat!" Eomer echoed him, riding to the head of the host, "riders with me! Cover them as they withdraw!" He didn't bother looking back as he rode down the group of goblins engaged with the front line of men, he knew his Rohirrim would follow him and the other riders would see and do the same. As they came around the side of the force he glanced back to see that he had been successful in creating a small gap between his men and the enemy, allowing them to slowly pull back.

Lancel's forces were not quite so lucky, with fewer horsemen and experienced warriors they were struggling to withdraw without taking heavy losses. The wolf riders, who had been circling the fight looking for openings, realized this and rushed towards the Faith, their mounts barking excitedly. This proved to be too much for the loose collection of smallfolk and Lannister defectors. They broke with a number of panicked cries even as Lancel held high the Seven Pointed Star banner trying to rally them.

By now the rest of the Westerlands forces under Lord Westerling were withdrawing towards the Rock in good order. Looking back at the struggling forces of the Faith Militant he sighed angrily.

"Cover their retreat!" He ordered as he brought his horse around. He pointed to a group of crossbowmen who were running in formation behind a force of Pikemen, "Give them a volley!"

The leader of the crossbowmen stopped and looked at him uncertainly, "They're just traitors! We need to get-"

"A VOLLEY NOW OR I TAKE YOUR HEAD!" he shouted, spittle flying from the corners of his mouth. This seemed to shock the man into obedience.

"Volley!" he called to the men, who angled their crossbows and prepared to fire.

"With me after them!" Eomer said to the group of horsemen crowded around him. As soon as the crossbowmen loosed their bolts he spurred his horse again towards the foe and heard the rest of the mounted fighters joining up behind him. Seeing him approach the wolf riders ceased harrying Lancel's fleeing host and turned to face them. He brought his horse wide around the first one that they met, just out of range of the beast's jaws, and dipped low slashing his sword across the animal's flank, dropping it with a whimper.

"Fall back!" he heard Joffrey call from somewhere in front of him. "We'll get them later, fall back!" He looked for the boy angrily but caught no sight of him among the wargs as they ran towards the enemy line. He scowled and signaled for the knights to follow him again towards their own forces. He saw the silver armored form of Lancel riding alongside him, the large purple bruises from where he'd hit him during their duel still trailed up the side of his cheek.

"Thank you…" Lancel muttered.

"What was that?" Eomer asked, "Speak up."

"Thank you," Lancel said louder, "What now?"

"The goblins are climbing up the side of the Rock, they mean to take the gate. We must ride to help Ser Stafford hold it." As he said it there was a cry of anguish that went up from the men in front of them.

"Oh gods what now," Lancel moaned.

Peering ahead Eomer felt his blood run cold. The gate to the rock, wide enough for twenty men to ride through side by side, was creaking closed. _They must have taken the gate winches,_ he thought with horror. He saw that most of Westerling's force was running through as quickly as they could, leaving only his riders, the Faith, and the group of crossbowmen outside.

"We're doomed!" shouted one man. He pointed at Lancel angrily, "if we hadn't held back for this lot we might've made it too!"

The goblins had seen the gate close and a cheer went up from them as they pivoted towards their now cornered prey. Eomer looked around frantically, searching for a way to escape. _Maybe if Westerling can retake the gatehouse in time… No, there's no telling how long that could take…_

"If you had held faith this wouldn't have happened!" Lancel shouted, leveling his sword at the man who had singled him out, "Only through sacrifice of these nonbelievers can we-"

"Enough!" Eomer shouted. He pointed to the gates of Lannisport, "If we reach the city there are entrances to the Rock which we can use to rejoin the fight!" He looked to the men on foot, "Stop for no wounded! Move forward and _only_ forward! No matter what happens! Riders do not outpace them, we must keep the wolves at bay until we get close to the city walls." He spurred his horse forward without waiting for a response, "We reach Lannisport or we die! Move!"

"How can we escape them?" Lancel asked in a panic once the column was in motion. Even as he spoke several formations of goblins were pivoting towards them. "The city is too far, the men and horses too tired!"

"I suppose you'll need to have faith," Eomer replied bitterly as the first group of wolves broke from the enemy lines and ran at them.

 **A/N: Ok the battle finally started! I made a few maps that are up on Archive of our Own under this chapter, check there if you want to see them.  
**

 **Jackalope089 - There will probably be some equivalent battles to the bigger ones that happened in canon.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Reyne has really doubled down on being an asshole here, and it's dubious that he's a "real" Reyne anyways. I wouldn't hold your breath on having him getting a warm welcome if he tries to take up Eomer's offer at this point. Tarbeck on the other hand...**


	80. LXXVII The Conquering King

**LXXVII**

 **The Conquering King**

Joffrey smiled as he watched the panicked forces of the enemy, now trapped between the gate of the Rock and their army. He barked orders to the group of large black orcs that Barg had assigned as his bodyguards and they formed up their wolves on him as he unsheathed his sword.

They rode out in a loose formation, arrows flying over their heads from the goblins on foot behind them. At first he'd hoped to pick off the footmen as they fled towards the gates of Lannisport, but he scowled as he saw the horsemen were staying alongside them rather than fleeing themselves. He slowed a moment, allowing another squad to pass him and his guards. When he saw the horsemen break away to engage them he spurred his mount into the gap that was created.

His wolf leapt upwards, causing him to hold tightly to it's fur as it slammed into one of the men in the rear, a crossbowman who had been struggling to load a bolt even as the warg's jaws closed around his head. He drew his sword and stabbed through the neck of another shocked man, savoring the look of pain and horror as the light left his eyes. _Squeal for me,_ he thought with a smile as the crossbowman made rasping sounds before dropping _._

The bulk of the men were moving away from him, breaking into a panic and even dropping their weapons. He could see Prince Eomer's Rohirrim a few hundred yards away, leading a group of horsemen as they tried to keep the wolf riders away from those fleeing towards the city.

"Shall we pursue your highness?" one of the black orcs asked him.

"No," Joffrey replied, "They'll be at the gates soon, we'll go back and get infantry for an assault on the city walls," truthfully he didn't want to get near Prince Eomer with so few soldiers.

He rode back towards the army, which was now marching towards the gate of Casterly Rock, and found The Great Goblin riding in an immense wagon with Lord Farman and his men marching alongside them.

"They've fallen back behind the walls," Joffrey said, dismounting. "I need footmen and rams."

"Rams won't be necessary," Farman said, "the walls of Lannisport are short enough to go over with ladders. Most attacks on Lannisport come from the sea and the city hasn't been attacked over land since the first Blackfyre rebellion. Lord Tywin keeps the walls maintained of course, but the true defenses of Lannisport are distance and terrain."

"Both of which we have already crossed," Barg said smiling.

"I've changed my mind, I will lead an attack on the city," Joffrey said eagerly, turning to leave.

"Hold on a minute boy," Barg's voice called from behind him.

He sighed and turned around, "What is it?" he asked.

"Let Reyne command the attack on the city, I want you and Farman with me when we take the fortress." He hefted his girth up and slowly stepped down out of the wagon, causing it to shift as he did so. Holding his hands wide a number of smaller orcs, his personal attendants, rushed forward with bits of steel which they strapped to his girth until he was covered in a hodgepodge of shields, pans, and a great brass gong across his gut. He flexed a moment and Joffrey was surprised to see the outlines of muscle bulge in those fat arms. Seeing his look the goblin king laughed, "They didn't make me the leader just because I was the biggest you know."

"So what do you need me for?" Joffrey asked longingly as he watched Reyne's red lion rise over a group of goblins and armed peasants. Forming into tight blocks they joined with the returning wolf riders to head towards Lannisport as the black armored man rode amongst them, shouting commands.

"You should take your seat on the throne as soon as we take it I think," Barg replied as a pair of orcs brought him a massive warhammer. "It's a symbol you see, and those are more important than a lot of people realize," he hefted the weapon in his hands, "Take this hammer for example, first age, forged in Angband itself! It's so much more than just a big hunk of iron…" he sighed wistfully.

Their force approached the gate, even from his position in the center he could hear the sounds of fighting on the other side. There was a high pitched scream and he looked up at one of the gate towers to see an armored man fall as a group of chattering goblins took the highest overlook. He smiled as they unfurled a stag banner and draped it over the side.

The gate creaked open to admit them, as it opened he saw orcs working the gate winches even as red armored Lannister men tried to fight their way to them. The goblins cheered as the reinforcements flooded in from outside, filling the small courtyard and forcing the embattled soldiers back towards the interior of the Rock. By the time he and the Great Goblin walked through the gate the Lannisters had already withdrawn, and a number of Goblins were banging on a second wooden gate that Joffrey knew lead to the interior of the fortress.

"Out of the way!" Barg called, "Let me give the door a knock!" Joffrey moved closer but the goblin lord held up a hand, "best to stay back your grace," he said with a wicked grin. As the smaller orcs scurried away from the gate he drew the hammer back and slammed it against the wood, causing splintering and creaking. From a pair of murderholes on the sides arrows and bolts began to fly out at the goblins, one struck Barg in the side causing him to scream angrily before striking the door with even greater force. It buckled again and bent, causing part of the gate to come off it's hinges. As the final hammer blow came the goblins rushed forward through the breach as the wooden doors slammed to the ground.

For the first few moments it was a slaughter, the men had formed tight groups of spearmen on the inside, and dozens of crossbow bolts arced out, striking goblins with such force that they flew backward several paces.

Barg just laughed as his army swarmed into the keep, "That's it lads! Rip, tear, pinch, and nab!"

Farman, who remained next to Joffrey gulped, "He's going to lose hundreds just taking that room and he laughs!"

"And if I commanded you would do the same!" Joffrey barked angrily, "and now I'm _commanding_ you to hold the gate against any attackers while we liberate my castle."

"As you wish King Joffrey," Farman muttered, "Men!" he called, "get up on those towers!" the heavy infantry of Fair Isle rushed to obey his commands as the goblins continued to pour into Casterly Rock. "I suppose I'll see you at the end of this?" he asked.

"You can count on it," Joffrey replied meeting his eyes, "See to it that you do your duty."

"Let it never be said that I didn't do the right thing today…" Farman said in a low voice, Joffrey was suddenly keenly aware of the sword in the man's hand.

"Go then!" Joffrey snapped, eyeing the blade.

Farman breathed out slowly and sheathed the sword, "I'll be in the gatehouse your grace."

 _Upset over a few dead peasants,_ Joffrey thought derisively, _we're about to win this you fool…_ He pushed the man out of his mind, there would be time to teach the Lord of Fair Isle proper respect on another day. He saw Barg waiting for him ahead and walked to the massive orc's side.

"They're falling back now," the goblin lord said, "it's going to be difficult to root them out of all these tunnels and hallways, too many choke points…" He sighed and hefted himself against a wall, "let's wait until a path to the citadel is cleared. His face brightened, "I don't suppose we're near the treasure room?"

"The vault is below the main citadel," Joffrey said, "you can take your spoils after the battle."

"Bugger all then," Barg sighed.

The two of them waited as the sounds of fighting and dying echoed through the hallways. Idly Barg reached down and pulled the arrow out of his side, cracking it in his fingers and dropping the pieces to the floor. Joffrey took the opportunity to draw the crossbow slung across his back and load a bolt. After nearly an hour one of the larger goblins came running back to them.

"My lords!" it said eagerly, "we believe we've reached a path to the citadel!"

"Already?" Joffrey asked, "how?"

"The men my lord," the goblin said, turning to him and bowing, "they fall back to the citadel, they've abandoned most of the fortress to us!"

"They must lack numbers with the rest of their compatriots stuck outside," The great goblin mused, "Forward King Joffrey!" He picked up the hammer again and the two of them walked, waddled in Barg's case, towards secondary set of gates that separated the main bulk of the citadel from the rest of Casterly Rock, a pair of steel plated gates large enough that even Barg would probably be able to walk through without bending down. A group of goblins were already ramming a large bronze capped ram against the gate.

Joffrey's eyes went wide as he remembered something he'd heard about this part of the castle, "Stay back from the gate it-"

There was a hissing sound as molten metal poured down from vents above, covering the goblins working the ram. They screamed in pain, the fortunate ones bent over dead after a moment or two, the rest lingered, twitching madly.

"Nasty stuff," Barg commented. He looked back up at the rest of the goblins in the room, "Get back at it!" They scurried over to the ram and continued the attack, denting the gate and causing it to shake. "How often can they do that I wonder?"

Barg was answered by another set of screams as another wave of molten steel rained down on the goblins working the ram. He sighed with exasperation.

"Idiots!" he shouted, "those of you who are standing around watching hold your shields over those who are working the ram!"

"How long is this going to take?" Joffrey asked impatiently

"We only need to take this fortress once," Barg replied, "the next time battle echoes through this halls it will be _us_ setting the traps.

"None will dare assault the Rock when _I_ command it," Joffrey said, "rebellion will be stamped out and it will be a golden age!"

Barg laughed, "Well Joffrey Baratheon I will say that even as a lord of goblins it's hardly so simple, but let's worry about getting power before we think about how to use it."

Joffrey nodded but said nothing, watching with interest as the molten steel feel again, _maybe I'll have that done to uncle Jaime if he refuses to bow…_

 **A/N: This is another double feature, review answers will be in the next one.**


	81. LXXVIII The Horselord

**LXXVIII**

 **The Horselord**

"Go!" Eomer shouted, they were within a hundred yards of the walls now, the wolves nipping at their heels. Luckily the men on the walls had seen the battle and were now working the gate open. There was cheering from the City Watch as the first of the men ran inside. The wolves tried to continue the pursuit but arrows rained down from the walls, striking down the few that were foolish enough to come near them.

Eomer sighed with relief and allowed himself a few moments of calm as he trotted his horse through the gates of Lannisport. He saw a man wearing chainmail and boiled leathers with bright red hair running towards him.

"What happened?" Tarbeck asked, "You were supposed to withdraw to the Rock if the battle turned!"

"The orcs scaled the sides of the mountain," he replied angrily, "They took the gate and closed us off from Ser Stafford's men. We had to flee here or be caught between the mountain and their army."

"There are gates into the Rock here in the city," Tarbeck said, "we can go and join them!"

Lancel saw them speaking and rode up to them, "The orcs are detaching a force towards the city!"

"Damn everything!" Eomer swore loudly. He felt tired suddenly, he felt his hand go to his head and he closed his eyes. After a moment of silence he spoke again, "We'll need to divide ourselves again. Half of us will stay here and try to hold the city, the rest will go inside the Rock to support Ser Stafford." He opened his eyes and looked at Lancel, he was covered in sweat and blood the same as Eomer was, terror was in his eyes but his hand still gripped his sword. "Lancel, take what you have left and go."

Lancel paused a moment, "Warrior be with you Prince Eomer. I'm… sorry for the way I've treated you. I promise you I will keep my vow to slay the accursed king." With that Lancel turned and rode back towards his men. After a few moments of shouting orders the remaining men of the Faith Militant began marching with Lancel towards the Lion's Maw, one of the larger entrances to the Rock inside the city.

"Good riddance to that bunch," Tarbeck said as the left, "traitors and zealots the lot of them."

"You're one to talk," Eomer muttered, "what do we have to work with?"

"Well between my boys and the City Watch we've got maybe three thousand," Tarbeck said, "most of them are out trying to keep the people left from burning this place down before the orcs can, but on the plus side we looted every armory and smith in the city, we're all using castle forged steel now!"

"Call everyone you can back," Eomer said, "the city will have to suffer some mayhem I'm afraid."

Tarbeck nodded, "I'll see you on the walls then." With that he ran to gather his men.

Eomer sighed and dismounted, leading his horse to the nearby stables along with a group of other men. He saw a bucket of water next to the hay, he knew it was for the horses but he splashed some over his face anyways, savoring the cool feeling running down his forehead.

"What shall I do Prince Eomer? I can't find another of your banners…" He turned to see Podrick Payne, a fresh set of stitches holding the wound on his cheek shut.

Eomer raised an eyebrow, "I'm glad to see you made it Payne," he gestured at his cheek, "did you receive wine? Milk of the poppy?"

Podrick shook his head, "I worried that dulling the pain would take me out of the battle my lord."

Eomer nodded with approval, "You're not meant to wave a banner Podrick Payne, draw your sword and follow me."

He turned to head towards the walls where the other men were already running up the stairs and standing in close ranks. The men of the City Watch had drawn their short swords and raised their thick square shields, the crossbowmen that had come with Eomer standing behind them, each with a new quiver of bolts. The goblins were assembled just out of range, from here Eomer could see ladders and he knew they would soon try to scale the walls. From out of the orc host a single man rode forward on a horse, a white banner waved high. One of the men moved to shoot at him with a crossbow but Eomer held up his hand.

"Prince Eomer!" Reyne called up to him, "It seems we're doomed to meet under such circumstances. I'm here to ask you again to lay down your arms and surrender!"

"And again I'll say this Reyne," he replied, "abandon this madness! Life and land awaits you in Rohan."

"I know what manner of life that would be," Reyne spat, "scrabbling in the dirt until my body and mind are broken like a common peasant?" He laughed and shook his head, "I've got two castles coming to me here, if you need another man to break his back picking carrots I'm sure that fool Tarbeck is back there with you somewhere."

"Come and meet your doom then!" Eomer shouted angrily. The man he'd stopped earlier loosed his bolt now, and it arced over the field landing just to the left of Reyne, who spurred his horse back towards his own lines. As soon as he reached them the goblins began running forward.

"Fire at will!" Eomer shouted, and at his word hundreds of arrows and bolts filled the air. If the goblins cared that their fellows were dropping they gave no notice, and soon they were upon the walls. A few feet from Eomer the first of the ladders was being pushed upwards by the swarm of goblins now clamoring below. With surprising speed they scaled the ladders, the first of the black armored creatures jumping onto the ramparts and engaging the men of the City Watch and pushing them back to allow the rest of the horde to swarm onto the walls.

"Push the ladders down!" he shouted. Running forward he slashed his sword across one orc's face and smoothly moved to block another's strike before shoving it towards the railing and over the edge where it fell with a shriek. Spinning around he saw that Podrick had blocked another orc from coming at his backside, and as his squire parried each stroke of the creature's curved blade he swung wide, bringing it's head off with a single stroke. He reached back around to the ladder and with all of his strength shoved it backwards just as the next goblin was about to reach the top.

"Prince Eomer look!" Podrick called, and as he turned he saw immediately what the boy was referring to, there was one section of wall perhaps a hundred yards from them that had been completely taken by the enemy.

Tarbeck ran to him from the direction of the attack, looking panicked, "Lord Eomer, they've come up the wall so quickly! We couldn't-"

"No excuses now," Eomer said, "What has happened?"

"It's Reyne," Tarbeck said uncertainly, "he scaled the ladder himself and attacked the defenders like a madman! Before we knew it he had nearly twenty of his men behind him!"

Eomer gritted his teeth angrily, "Come then, lead me to the bastard of Castamere so that I can deal with him."

Tarbeck seemed frightened by the prospect, but nodded, "Y-yes my lord, this way!" Tarbeck turned and walked quickly towards the direction of the skirmish atop the walls, Eomer and Podrick followed. He was pleased to see that in the other parts of the wall at least the City Watch was holding its own, and the crossbowmen continued to rain bolts down on the orcs raising ladders, stymying the numbers that were able to reach the top.

"Prince Eomer!" he heard Reyne calling from behind the fighting men, "I saw the tip of that helmet, you're here somewhere!"

"Here Reyne," he replied calmly, "I offered you a chance to come with me to Rohan, and I offered you the chance to meet your doom. I see you've decided to take me up on the latter."

There was a scream and suddenly one of the city watchmen blocking his view dropped, revealing the black armored man, blood covering his sword.

"I never get tired of that sound," Reyne said with a smile, "Let's have at it then, I'm looking forward to another scream!"

 _You'll be waiting a long time to hear one from me!_ He ran at the black knight, his sword low and ready to slash or block, but he did neither as the bastard of Castamere nimbly stepped away from him. Frowning Eomer pressed the attack, slashing and stabbing as the man continued to step backwards, a sly grin on his face. _This fool is giving too much ground,_ he thought. Soon Reyne was against the railing on the top of the wall, one hand on his sword and the other drifting low to steady himself against the stone.

"You must forgive me Prince Eomer," he said, "I'm far from the greatest swordsman…" as Eomer moved closer to strike again suddenly Reyne's hand darted to his belt and upward, hurtling a pocket full of a white powder at Eomer's face.

He screamed as it made contact with his eyes, stinging them. In spite of his efforts they were forced shut and he staggered backwards, "What was that?" he shouted, "What did you do to me?"

"I've lived a poor man's life, I cannot afford any fanciful poisons or tricks," he heard Reyne say, "it's only salt I'm afraid, good to put a more skilled man off his toes for a few moments, but as you probably know a few moments is plenty of time to kill or die."

He struggled to listen for the man's footsteps, but with the sounds of battle all around it was impossible to discern what was Reyne.

"To your left!" he heard Podrick shout, and blinking madly he blocked to his left side and was rewarded with a loud clang as he blocked the attack. He stumbled back again, "He's circling you!" Podrick said. He heard another set of footsteps running towards them.

"Boy don't throw your life away like this," he heard Reyne say as the sound of steel against steel met his ears.

 _Podrick!_ Eomer thought as he blinked again, blurry shapes were beginning to reappear in his vision. He heard the boy scream in pain and he blinked one final time before his vision returned, revealing the black armored figure of Reyne standing over a kneeling Podrick.

"Always watch your knees lad, they're every man's weak spot!" Reyne sneered as he pulled his sword back for a killing blow.

There was a thudding noise as a crossbow bolt slammed into Reyne's chestpiece, causing him to suck in air loudly as he stared down at it, shocked.

"And so he spoke and so he spoke, that lord of Castamere," Tarbeck said in a singsong voice, walking towards them, crossbow in hand. Reyne stumbled towards the railing as Tarbeck struggled to pull back the string and load a new bolt. Reyne coughed blood as he tried to lift his sword again, but this time Tarbeck's bolt took him in the throat, causing him to tumble over the railing. "And now the rains weep over his house, and not a soul to hear…" Tarbeck finished.

"That's the first time I've been happy to hear _that_ song," Eomer said as he rose to his feet again and walked over to Podrick. He saw that Reyne had inflicted a deep cut on the side of the boy's leg, just below the knee. Sighing he reached down and pulled the boy up, Podrick cried out again as weight was put on the injured leg.

Podrick saw his look, "I can still use a crossbow like Lord Tarbeck!" he protested, but Eomer shook his head.

"You're out of the battle this time boy, worry not about honor, you've saved my life and served your kingdom beyond what you were called to do."

"We've got an infirmary set up down in a guard station a little ways from the wall," Tarbeck said, "I'll get the boy down there…" He looked at the wall, the goblins were starting to make gains again, even without Reyne to command them there were simply too many, "Though I don't know what good it will do if we lose the walls…"

A new horn called suddenly from the East, causing Eomer to beam excitedly, "That's a horn of Gondor!" the horn echoed again over the hills, and though sunrise was far yet the first rays of dawn were beginning to lighten the eastern horizon. On a high hill overlooking the fields the silhouettes of thousands of horsemen were coming into view. All along the walls the men saw, and a loud cheer went up as they surged forward against the goblins, hope renewed. The horn called one final time as the arriving knights began to charge towards the army below the walls.

 **A/N: All right the battle rages on, I decided to post these together since the Joffrey one on it's own felt a little unsatisfying to me.**

 **Guest: Dracula scrape and lick, the bats in Tolkien are basically carrion, eating the dead. Obviously in real life the only bats that drink blood are vampire bats and they don't eat the dead, but I don't think anyone is reading this fic to learn about bats so we're leaning a bit more towards the fantastic**

 **Jackalope089 - The next major war we'll be covering will be the one in Rohan, expect cavalry charges to abound there.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - well most of your questions were answered here so I'll just say enjoy!**


	82. LXXIX Jaime Lannister

**LXXIX**

 **Jaime Lannister**

Smoke rose over Lannisport and the front gates of Casterly Rock. Even from here in the low light Jaime could see the thousands of dead, men and orcs, littering the fields. Bats the size of dogs swarmed over the corpses, their fluttering wings audible even over the sound of continuing battle. It was a grisly sight, he'd grown up playing in those fields, running through those streets… a sense of despair came over him seeing it like this.

"Welcome home," Jaime muttered to himself as he looked down on the carnage. They were on the final of a series of hills overlooking the level field that preceded the city. The first rays of dawn beginning to come over the horizon, gave the sky a purplish tint.

"It's never an easy thing to see lad," Forlong said softly, "a place you know and love ravaged by war…" The enormous man drew his equally massive battleaxe and his mount pawed at the dirt eagerly, "I can't say anything that will make it better… but I'm ready to help you bring justice to those responsible."

 _I'm responsible,_ Jaime thought bitterly, _Cersei and I created that monster,_ "Form ranks to charge!" Jaime ordered loudly.

Forlong slapped him hard on the back, causing him to double forward briefly, "That's the spirit!" the fat man roared, "Are we going to try and surprise the bastards or can I start blowing this?" from his belt he produced a fanciful horn with silver trees stamped into the side.

"We've doubtless been spotted by now," Jaime replied, "Do what you think is best."

Forlong grinned and raised the horn to his lips, his red cheeks puffed outward as he blew into the trumpet, causing a deep rumble to echo over the field in front of them. He breathed in and blew it again, and then again until the men behind them began cheering every time it rang out. The fat man stopped suddenly, lowering it and turning back to him.

"You got anything you want to say to them?" Forlong gestured at the thousands of knights forming into squads to prepare for the attack, "usually this is where a commander makes some sort of a speech…"

A small smile came over Jaime's face, in spite of everything going on the other man's enthusiasm was infectious, "Fine I'll say a few words."

"Yes!" Forlong beamed, "and at the conclusion of your rousing speech we will thunder in the like the wrath of the Valar themselves before the gates of Angband! The very world will break before-"

"Do _you_ want to give the speech?" Jaime asked with a chuckle.

Forlong blushed a moment, "Ah, I'm sorry I didn't mean to steal your thunder Ser Jaime…"

"Think nothing of it friend," Jaime said, hefting his lance over his shoulder.

He rode to the front of the column and paused, he wasn't quite sure what to say and he knew that most of the men wouldn't be able to hear him anyways no matter how loud he shouted. _This is really something Tyrion would be better suited for,_ he thought. The men quieted though, leaning in with anticipation.

"Men of the Westerlands…" _to the hells with it all,_ "With me to battle!" he shouted, "With me now to Lannisport! Let the beasts of Middle Earth fear the wrath of the Westerlands! GLORY AWAITS!" He hefted his lance high and turned his horse towards the battle below, "ATTACK!" he spurred his mount forward and heard the thundering of hooves behind him as the knights of the Westerlands joined the charge, Forlong's horn blew one last time as they lowered their lances as one.

They crossed the field with ease, only a few disorganized volleys heading their way, most of which went wide or fell short. The goblins were panicking now, they were trapped between the approaching host and the walls of the city, and Jaime knew the knights behind him would already be breaking off into smaller groups to prevent any flight. As they rode closer he could tell there would be no organized stand, the lines were already collapsing into chaos and terror. He gripped the lance and angled it lower than he normally would, goblins were shorter than men after all, and steeled himself for the impact.

It was a slaughter, the heavily armored cavalry of the Westerlands rode over the goblins as though they were grass in a field. They attempted to run, but there was no place to go but backwards, towards the walls. This only caused them to become more tightly packed there, and he continued forward until his lance was blunted and he was forced to draw his sword.

There was a barking sound as an enormous beast, the size of a direwolf, lunged at his horse, jaws closing around it's neck. The beast died quickly with a pitiful neighing sound, dropping Jaime to the ground. He rolled with the momentum and stood back up, leveling Brightroar in one fluid motion. He was suddenly aware that he was cut off from his men, who had continued to ride against the goblins leaving him surrounded by a small group.

Looking around briefly he heard a few cackles and saw toothy grins. The goblins drew weapons and began shuffling, each hoping some other would take the first opportunity to attack. He found his balance and moved in time with the more aggressive ones.

Breathing out slowly his mind lingered again on Cersei, Joffrey, the Witch King, and all the other things that had troubled his thoughts on the way back from Minas Tirith. The first of the goblins leapt at him and with a smooth and well-practiced motion he cleaved the creature in two, the Valyrian steel blade parting the crude armor as though it were made of wax.

A sudden resolve seized him and he stepped forward, slashing wide across the assembled foes, causing several to cry out in pain. Without stopping to observe the results of his attack he stabbed another goblin that was pulling back a small shortbow, causing the arrow to fall to the ground. There was rage building within him now, the fear, anger, and frustration of the past weeks all rising to a head and being channeled through the only art in life Jaime had ever mastered.

His sword was like a scythe in a field as he moved through the enemy, cutting down all who stood before him. A few tried to counter him, their blades slashing out of the mob, but to him it seemed as though they were moving underwater, and he blocked the strikes easily. Another of the giant wolves appeared from somewhere, but even as it ran at him he stepped aside gracefully and slashed it twice in an "x" pattern across it's flank, spilling it's entrails on the ground.

"KILL HIM!" A larger black skinned orc had gathered perhaps ten of the smaller ones to rush at him at once.

Seeing the charge he just laughed and ran at them, for as long as the battle continued he wouldn't have to think about his troubles, he wouldn't have to worry if wrongs could be righted, if he would ever find redemption, there was only him, his blade, and an enemy to be struck down. He tore into the charging orcs with speed that would have surprised even him if he'd had the presence of mind to notice it, he'd removed a head and cleaved a pair of arms off before he realized he would need to block a series of incoming attacks. Bracing himself he pushed back against each in time and his sword darted forward to punish each orc in turn.

"I will feast upon your flesh!" the larger orc screamed, coming at him with a pair of scimitars. He frowned as he stepped backwards, blocking each of the beasts quick slashes.

 _Two swords?_ He thought absently as he continued his defense, _seems like it would require too much thought in the middle of a fight to use them effectively…_ He shrugged and put Brightroar in front of himself horizontally, blocking the twin strikes of the enraged orc. As soon as the swords made contact he brought his armored knee up into it's gut, causing it to grunt and double over in pain. He stepped back and shoved the point of his sword into it's chest. Lifting it up he brought it's eyes level with his own and watched as it died with a low growl, when the black eyes saw no more he dropped his slain foe to the ground.

"Manwe's beard Jaime that was… that was something else I'll tell you that much!" Forlong said. He turned to see the fat man pacing toward him, leading his draft horse by the reins. He noticed that Forlong's axe was bloodied. "You must have killed at least two dozen of the beasts! You look like a butcher's shop lad!"

Looking down Jaime saw that his armor was coated in black orc blood and offal, the ground around where he'd been unhorsed was muddy with spilled fluids and leaking body parts.

He breathed out slowly, focus returning, "Has the city been liberated?" he asked.

"Aye, Prince Eomer sallied forth right after you lost your horse and we crushed them between us. There's a few fleeing for the hills but for the most part we broke them," Forlong replied, "Prince Eomer's looking for you, he says there's more goblins inside the Rock."

"There are," Jaime recognized Prince Eomer's voice and saw the horseman riding up behind Forlong. "At least half of their force followed Prince Joffrey inside to take the fortress."

"Prince Eomer," Jaime greeted him, "I hope we didn't come to late to be of any use?"

Eomer smiled, "I didn't want to be inconsiderate so I saved a few thousand for you."

Forlong laughed loudly at the joke, "A right proper gentleman this one!" the Gondorian lord said, "you could take a few notes from him Ser Jaime!"

"I'll be sure to do so," Jaime said tersely, "Returning to the matter at hand, do you still hold the gates to the Rock within the city?"

Eomer nodded, "The main gate is lost, but I sent Lancel and the Faith Militant to reinforce Ser Stafford. We should get to them as soon as we can, they left hours ago and I haven't heard anything from inside the Rock since then."

They were interrupted by a red cloaked man riding towards them holding a Lannister Banner, "Ser Jaime," the man said, "We've received a letter for you!" he held a sealed envelope out to Jaime, who took it hesitantly.

"A letter?" He asked, "In the middle of a battle?" turning it over he saw it bore a wax seal with three ships on it, "Farman…" he muttered. He tore the letter open and began reading.

 _To Ser Jaime_

 _I have left this letter with a rider I trust in the hopes that it might make it's way to you. All men make mistakes, few make mistakes on the scale that I have. It became clear upon joining with King Joffrey's host that he was a madman and a monster who could be followed by none with any shred of decency or sanity. I marched within his army to Casterly Rock because I saw no avenue of escape for me and my men, but you provided us with one during your attack. By the time you receive this letter we will be marching North to where my fleet is anchored waiting to return us to Fair Isle. Lest you think us cowards, we have disposed of those orcs left at the gates of Casterly Rock and they now lay open for you to retake your home._

 _When the war is over and the time comes for justice to be done I will await your judgment. I offer gold, hostages, and even my own head if it means that my family and people might be spared._

 _Now We Sail_

 _Sebaston Farman, Lord of Fair Isle_

Jaime nodded as he finished the letter, "Farman has withdrawn and the letter claims he's opened and cleared the front gates for us."

"Can we trust him?" Forlong asked.

"He thought he was still in Westeros," Jaime said, "he didn't realize what he'd allied with until it was too late. If we go to the gates and they are open I would say that he was telling the truth."

"What now Jaime Lannister?" Eomer asked.

Jaime thought a moment, "The remaining goblins are inside the Rock and we now hold both entrances, we can attack and ensure none escape."

"A solid plan," Forlong said, "Who's going where?"

"I've personal business with King Joffrey," Jaime said bitterly, "I'm going through the city gates."

Eomer nodded, "my men have been fighting all night, there is fire in them still but if possible I would not put them where the fighting will be the thickest."

"Take the gate and prepare to hold it against an enemy retreat," Jaime said, "Our infantry is but a few hours behind us, raise a Lannister standard from the tallest tower and they will reinforce you." He paused, "Prince Eomer you've done us a great service and a Lannister-"

"Always pays his debts," Eomer finished, "I know, I've heard it said often of late."

"You'll see it in action soon enough," Jaime promised. He turned back to Forlong, "I suppose you're coming with me?"

Forlong grinned, "I'm Forlong True-Friend boy! Wild dogs couldn't keep me away!"

"That's good," Jaime said, "They've got some beasts that are quite a bit bigger than wild dogs."

The two of them walked together towards the city gates. Looking up at the citadel of the Rock Jaime felt his trepidation return, _Joffrey's up there somewhere,_ he thought, _and I'm going to have to…_ he sighed. _If I dwell on it I might not be able to do it when the time comes._ Realizing he still held Brightroar in his hand he stopped a moment to wipe it on the grass before sheathing it and continuing on.

"That's a nice castle," Forlong said suddenly, "I hear from your men the whole mountain is hollowed out and full of palaces and spacious rooms!"

Jaime smiled, Forlong's mood never seemed to waver, "I'll be sure to get you one without too many goblins in it."

"Goblins," Forlong said, waving dismissively, "So long as you fill it with free wine and food I'll share a room with Sauron himself!" The two men laughed as they walked towards the promise of battle.

 **A/N: The battle rages on**

 **L'Etranger0 - I don't think we'll ever get into the exact cause of "The Arrival," but the music in the first few chapters implies it was the work of the Valar, though I think it helps preserve some of the mystery and wonder to leave it kind of murky.**

 **Slyterhiss - yep it's Jaime, the horn was Forlong's.**


	83. LXXX The Conquering King

**LXXX**

 **The Conquering King**

It had taken hours but they had finally fought their way to the throne room of Casterly Rock. The sounds of battle still echoed throughout the fortress, but he and Barg had made it a priority to reach and take the upper levels of the Citadel.

"Now _this_ is nice," Barg commented, looking around at the large stained glass windows, "Once I pick a new mountain to carve out I think I'll have some of these put in myself…"

Joffrey wasn't paying attention to him though, he was eagerly staring at the carved lion throne in the middle of the hall. He started walking towards it, excited to sit in it for the first time, but Barg stopped him.

"Patience my boy!" The goblin said with a smile. He turned and snapped his fingers and a few of the smaller goblins that had been following him ran forward, one held a purple cloak, another an iron scepter. Joffrey took them hesitantly, draping the cloak around his shoulders and holding the scepter upright. The final goblin held only a wooden box. "Now normally goblins aren't exactly inclined towards giving gifts, after all it's better to take than to receive…" Barg continued the goblins behind him cackled at the remark, "but I think we can go against tradition just this once." The goblins opened the box, revealing a crown carved from black stone, with gold trim and a number of rubies set into it.

Joffrey's eyes widened, " _Yes!"_ he whispered with a smile.

The goblin king picked up the crown and held it high, "I crown you now Joffrey Baratheon, goblin-friend, the King of the Westerlands!" he slowly set the black and gold crown on Joffrey's head and the goblins in the hall cheered and whistled. For the first time he truly felt like a _king._

He rose and they quieted, "I thank all of you!" he said smiling, "We will create a new world together! Unbound by the weak and foolish who would hold us back out of jealousy and fear!"

"Grandeur!" The great goblin laughed, "I like it!"

Suddenly the doors barged open, "My lords!" a goblin said, rushing in, "enemy reinforcements have arrived from the east! A knight wearing golden armor leads them!"

"Uncle Jaime," Joffrey said bitterly, "What is the status of our army in the field?"

"Destroyed my lord," the goblin said in a low voice, "scattered by their charge."

"What!?" The Great Goblin bellowed angrily, "Do you mean to tell me we have gone from the besiegers to the besieged?" The goblin nodded feebly and Barg roared with anger, "Incompetents! Nit-wits!" he fumed.

"Where is my uncle now?" Joffrey asked, drawing his sword, "I will cut his throat!"

"We still have the advantage," Barg said, calming himself somewhat, "Narg!" he called, causing the orc in question to step forward out of the crowd of those in the throne room.

"Yes your greatness?" He asked, bowing.

"Have the other members of the royal family been located yet?"

Narg nodded, "They've barricaded themselves in a room one floor down, when we told 'em to open up they said they'd never be taken alive. I was going to ask for your orders but I didn't want to interrupt the proceedings."

"Disloyal subjects," Joffrey spat, "cowards and women. We'll take a few of them hostage and demand Uncle Jaime meet us for a parlay, when he does…" he grinned viciously, "We'll cut the head off the snake. When he's dead we will descend upon his men, they'll collapse without him. We still have the numbers to win this battle!"

"A good plan, but we'll need to kill all the leaders… best to demand the Horse Prince and Ser Stafford come too," Barg said, walking over to the wall where his hammer was leaning against a column, "Let's go get us a few bargaining chips!" They walked out of the throne room together with a number of smaller orcs and made their way downstairs and through the hallways to a large wooden door that Joffrey knew lead to a large lounge that was often used to entertain parties. From here the distant sounds of battle in the lower levels of the Rock could be heard and he grinned thinking of how frightened those inside would be.

He walked up to the door and shouted, "To all within, this is Joffrey Baratheon! Your King! Open this door immediately and I promise you none will be harmed!"

"You will take none of us," a female voice called, he recognized it as his aunt Genna, "we are prepared to take the final step!"

He chuckled, "Aunt Genna if I were you I'd step away from the door!" he backed away and waved at Barg who grinned and heaved the hammer back before slamming it against the door sharply. The bar holding the door locked broke with a snap causing it to fly open. The women inside screamed as the goblins flooded in.

"Now Ser Ilyn!" he heard Genna say, but the goblins ran at the man before he had a chance to strike at her, one of them tackling him at the midsection and bringing him to the ground. Another raised a sword over the knight's head.

"Stop!" Joffrey yelled, "Enough of this!" he smiled and walked to the center of the room, "We're all civilized people here aren't we?" the goblins and even Ser Ilyn looked at him questioningly. Behind him he heard Barg chuckling.

"Do as he says," the great goblin said, waddling inside himself and looking around, "My, we've some pretty faces here!"

Joffrey beamed, "I've got some good news for you traitors, I'm feeling quite merciful today and I'll be letting most of you go!"

"Liar!" Genna said, "If you're going to kill us just do it and save us the sufferance of your company!"

 _That bitch!_ "Aunt Genna contain yourself!" he said sternly, "I am a _king_. You are family but you test my patience." He looked around the room, "As I said most of you will be released to Uncle Jaime's army."

"Jaime's arrived?" One girl asked eagerly, he turned to see his cousin Myrielle, an annoying girl who always thought herself funnier than she was.

"The next person to interrupt will…" his eyes landed on Ser Ilyn, still pinned on the ground, and he smiled again, "The next to interrupt will have their tongue ripped out." He met Myrielle's eyes, "Anything else to say?" she simply shook her head, terrified.

"Make your point lad, we've got things to do," Barg said with a tinge of annoyance.

"As I said I will send most of you to my uncle as a show of good faith," Joffrey said, "while a few will remain as hostages."

Genna raised an eyebrow, "What terms would you have us deliver?"

"Tell my uncles Jaime and Stafford, along with Prince Eomer, that I will grant them safe passage to meet with me," Joffrey said, "and that if they refuse I will execute those I've taken!"

Genna gasped, "surely you must be-"

"We'll start with her!" Joffrey said, pointing Mirielle. _If I'm going to have to cull a few I might as well improve the composition of the court!_

"No!" another girl said, stepping forward, "Please take me instead!"

"Cerenna," Joffrey said irritably, _the only chattering hen worse than Mirielle,_ "No," he replied firmly, "I will take your sister. If you disapprove of my decision I suggest you tell Uncle Jaime to agree to my demands."

A whimpering rang out and he smiled, _I know that sound,_ "Tommen, get out here." The crowd parted revealing his younger brother. "You will come with me as well."

"You'd take your own brother as a hostage?" Cerenna asked angrily.

He laughed, "Don't think I don't know who you fools would replace me with, my brother is as much a traitor as any of you!"

"I don't want to go with you Joffrey," Tommen said suddenly, "You can't do things like this-"

"Remove him," Joffrey said simply, and causing a gasp from the crowd a pair of the goblins rushed forward and grabbed the boy, one on each side they forced him out of the room as he screamed in terror. He turned back to Genna, "Are my terms acceptable?"

"Yes," Genna replied bitterly, "If you promise to release those taken after Jaime and Stafford meet with you."

He smiled, "Of course, a king must be a man of his word you know." He looked around the room, "You three," he said pointing to a mother and her two small children, causing a gasp, "And let's round it out with you Aunt Genna."

"You can't be serious!" Cerenna said, "who will deliver your message if not her?"

"It's all right Cerenna," the older woman said quietly, "do you remember what we talked about earlier?"

"Yes…" Cerenna said, eyes downcast,

"Consider this part of your education," Genna said. With that she held her head up high and walked to Joffrey and held her hand out, "Well then boy, escort me to where I'm to be kept prisoner!"

"There won't be any need for that," Joffrey said as he beckoned the other chosen hostages forward, "we're only going upstairs. Come." The woman and her children, along with Mirielle, stepped forward to join Genna. "Remember my message," he said to Cerenna, "Uncle Jaime meets me at once to parlay or they die."

"I'll deliver it," she replied angrily.

"Good," he said nodding, "Narg! Escort the rest of them down to whatever low levels my uncle Stafford has managed to hold."

"You heard 'em ladies, form up a line!" the orc said grinning. He gestured to the orcs holding Ser Ilyn down, "you too big and ugly, leave the sword!" Ser Ilyn growled but slowly stood up, leaving his weapon on the floor as he was herded over towards the rest of the women and children to be released.

Joffrey turned to leave with the rest of the goblins and his chosen hostages, behind him he heard Barg plodding along, bringing up the rear.

"Let's hope this doesn't turn into a prolonged siege," Barg said, "I'd hate to look back and think that we let a few extra meals walk away from us." At the comment the children screamed, hugging their mother tightly.

"Keep those brats quiet!" Joffrey barked, "or else we won't wait for a siege!"

They finally returned to the throne room where the goblins were holding a crying Tommen, they'd removed his sword scabbard and seemed to be fighting over which of them would take the boy's little blade, likely only large enough to serve as a knife for one of them.

"Sit wherever you'd like," Joffrey said, his cruel smile contrasting with his polite tone, "We just need to wait for Uncle Jaime's response and all this unpleasantness will be over with."

"We should get some food up here," Barg commented, "it could be an hour or two before your uncles take the bait."

"What about him?" one of the goblins, said, jerking his thumb at Tommen, "he seems… tender." Joffrey almost laughed at the thought of the goblins carrying Tommen down to the kitchens but stopped himself, _I'm a king now, best to act royal._

"He is not for eating," Joffrey said, looking at his brother, "if he behaves…" He walked back to his throne and sat down, adjusting his crown slightly so it sat level on his head. "And now we wait."

 **A/N: This is another two parter, reviews in the next part.**


	84. LXXXI Jaime Lannister

**LXXXI**

 **Jaime Lannister**

It hadn't taken Jaime long to find the rest of his men, after the goblins had been broken a few hundred knights had broken off under Ser Flement Brax to hunt the survivors and attempt to stop them from reaching the mountains and hills surrounding Lannisport while the rest had milled about near the gates waiting for further orders. As they saw him and Jaime approach it took a moment for them to recognize him due to the gore covering his armor, but when he removed his helm revealing his bright blond hair they cheered.

"Do not celebrate yet!" he called over the din, silencing them, "The battle is not won! The enemy still has soldiers within The Rock, and even now our brothers in arms fight to keep them from taking it completely. Follow me to the Lion's Maw!" he walked through them and he heard shouting as the knights mounted back up. At some point a squire brought him a new horse and a group of Forlong's men appeared to help him back onto his own mount.

The army rode through the city, eliciting more shouts and cheering from the townspeople as they drew nearer to the Rock. Jaime didn't notice much of it though, he found himself looking upwards at the citadel, _fated to be a kingslayer, now a kinslayer too_. They arrived at the gate where a number of men were organizing outside, wounded were being carried out from the interior of the fortress and leaning against a crutch he saw his uncle, Ser Stafford Lannister, barking orders.

"Jaime!" the man said as he spotted him, "Thank the gods! We've been pushed out of most of the upper levels, we'd have lost these gates too if Lancel's men hadn't arrived."

"Are you all right?" Jaime asked, eyeing the crutch.

"I sprained my ankle running up the stairs when we had to withdraw back into the Rock," Stafford replied. Seeing Jaime's amused look he scowled, "You'll get old too someday!"

"He's got a point you know," Forlong said, "When you're older the strangest things can take you out of battle. Why once me and my boys were supposed to go looking for a band of orcs down near the border with Harad, I'd eaten a rather spicy meal the night before and-"

"I'm sorry but who is this?" Stafford asked with annoyance.

"Lord Forlong of Lossarnach," Jaime said smiling, "known variously as Forlong True-Friend and Forlong the Fat, depending on who you ask."

Their conversation was interrupted by the sounds of crying children. They all turned to see Lancel leading a line of women and children out of the interior of the Rock. Jaime was shocked to see his cousin's appearance, he'd shaved his hair and tattooed his forehead, and he had a pair of purple bruises on his face as though he'd been struck hard.

"Uncle Stafford," Lancel began, "Joffrey has taken the citadel… he's called for a parlay and released some of the women and children as a gesture of good will. We've pulled back to the floors we've secured, the enemy appears to be honoring the truce so far."

"My daughters?!" Stafford exclaimed, "What about my daughters?"

"Here father!" one of the women said, coming forward. Jaime recognized his cousin Cerenna. While normally somewhat reserved today she seemed frantic, "Joffrey h-he," she took a moment to collect herself before speaking again, "Joffrey and the goblin lord have taken a number of hostages, he says he will have them murdered if you, uncle Jaime, and Prince Eomer do not meet with him in the throne room." She paused a moment, "Myrielle, Tommen, and Aunt Genna are among those taken."

"I'll kill that little bastard!" Stafford roared, struggling to move with the crutch under his arm. He nearly toppled before Lancel caught him, helping him back upright. Stafford growled angrily a moment, "We've got to do what he says, someone send a messenger to fetch Prince Eomer."

"No," Jaime said, "we're not going to negotiate, we're going to press in and kill him." _He can't be allowed to surrender, not after this… better that I end him than Ser Ilyn or an angry mob._

"He has my daughter Jaime," Stafford said bitterly.

 _He's right… Joff won't hesitate to kill them, more blood on my hands,_ "What if we moved quickly? Stormed each room with heavily armored men, moved before he could have a chance to-"

"That's too risky lad," Forlong said, "one orc gets away and then the message reaches him…" Forlong dragged his finger across his neck miming a throat being cut.

"You could sneak in," Cerenna said quietly. They all turned to her.

"What do you mean child?" Stafford asked, "There's only a few ways up to the top levels, all easily blocked."

"A servant's lift," she replied, "it runs from the lowest levels up to the throne room itself, the door is hidden behind some wood paneling. It's supposed to allow the servants to enter and leave without troubling anyone during parties or formal events."

"How do you know about this?" Jaime asked, "I've never heard of any lifts in the citadel."

"Nor have I," Stafford said, "Cerenna, are you certain?"

A small smile came across her face, "Did you all think that trays of food just found their way up there during parties? That your beds made themselves?" Seeing their confused looks she sighed, "Myrielle and I used to chase one another as small children do, the servants often let us ride through the levels with them as we tried to avoid one another."

"How big is this lift?" Jaime asked, dismounting, taking his cue Forlong and the remaining men behind them did so as well.

"It's not large," she admitted, "perhaps four or five men could fit in it."

"We'll send a message to Joffrey telling him we're on our way," Jaime said slowly, thinking over his plan, "I will lead a group of men up there to the throne room and we'll take them by surprise. When we've secured the hostages we'll hang our standard from one of the towers. When you see it order the men to storm the castle."

"Do you believe you can hold against them until we retake the fortress?" Stafford asked.

 _Maybe not, but I don't care anymore,_ "We can just come back down the lift can't we?" he asked.

"It's not big enough for you and the hostages," Cerenna said, "and it takes over half an hour to go all the way up or down."

"So once we send the hostages back down we'd be stuck up there for at least an hour?" Forlong asked, "well that's no bloody good…"

"I mean no offense Lord Forlong but if this lift is only large enough for four or five people perhaps we should pick someone a bit more… slender," Stafford started.

"Now see here," Forlong began, "I might take up as much space as two men but I fight like five! I'm going up there with Ser Jaime if I've got to _climb_ up!"

"Well who can say no to that enthusiasm?" Jaime asked with a smile, "Now I just need a few more willing to join me on this suicide mission."

"Prince Eomer perhaps?" Cerenna asked hesitantly, "he's one of the greatest fighters the world has ever known!"

Jaime raised an eyebrow, "really now?"

"The Prince has shown that he is both skilled at leading men and at feats of arms," Stafford said, "Lancel can tell you firsthand about that." Lancel blushed angrily at the remark but said nothing.

 _That explains the bruises then,_ "I left him to command at the front gates, Lord Farman has deserted Joffrey and left them undefended." Jaime said, "I don't know that there's anyone else there capable of command, and there will be fighting there once the goblins try to retreat."

"I will go then," Lancel said stepping forward, "I swore before gods and men that I would slay Joffrey Baratheon to avenge Prince Theodred of Rohan on Eomer's behalf, it is not a thing I take lightly even if he is a non-believer."

"That's three," Jaime muttered, "now who else do we have?" _If ever there was a job for Sandor Clegane or Lyle Crakehall…_ As he thought it over Ser Ilyn walked forward from the line of released prisoners towards them. Just as Jaime was about to ask him what he was doing the bald knight swiftly drew Ser Stafford's sword and weighed it in his hand. Seemingly satisfied he looked at Jaime and nodded.

"Ser Ilyn I must ask you to return my-" Stafford began, but one look from the bald knight and he stopped, stuttering, "P-perhaps you could use it for the remainder of the battle since I'm to be back here commanding the men…"

"I think we've found our last man!" Forlong said excitedly.

"Let's get this over with then," Jaime said, "Cerenna, take us to this lift."

"We'll need a few horses or a lot of men to turn the wheels," she said, follow me!"

Jaime gestured for a squad of about ten men to follow them as they entered the rock. With the truce in effect an eerie calm had come over the men still inside. He saw a few of them playing dice in a corner, and a pair of men had found a cyvasse board somewhere and had started a game. Another man was drinking from a wineskin, but stopped when he saw Jaime walk by. Finally they came to series of servants quarters just above where the mines began.

"Here," Cerenna said, pointing to a wooden door that might have been mistaken for a large closet. She opened it revealing wooden box suspended from above by a series of thick ropes, not unlike the one that was said to have been used on the Wall by the Night's Watch. "The wheels to raise it are in the next room, there's a string in it that you tug when you want it to start and stop, it rings a little bell down here."

"It's a good thing Joffrey doesn't know about it," Lancel said, peering up the long shaft, "cutting those ropes would render the whole thing useless."

"I'm sure father and uncle Kevan know about it," Jaime said, stepping inside the lift, "but I don't know that anyone thought we'd ever be fighting inside the Rock. If plans were made they certainly weren't shared with Joffrey," _or me_. The box rocked a little as the other three men stepped inside, with all of their weapons and armor it was crowded, and their arms were forced to their sides.

"Cerenna," he said, "take the men into the other room and have them start the wheels."

She nodded, "Good luck Jaime, please bring Myrielle and the others back safe…" with that she turned and led the remaining men into the next room.

Jaime closed the door, leaving them in darkness. A moment later he felt them begin to rise slowly through the interior of the Rock. _I suppose we'll know we're at the top when we stop moving,_ he thought. He felt himself grow anxious, it was one thing to fight, it was another to _wait_ for a fight, especially in the silence and the dark with nothing to distract his eyes or mind.

"I suppose normally they'd bring a light in here," Forlong said suddenly, "seems like the servants would risk spilling food and drink otherwise."

"The light of the Father's will shall suffice until we reach the Citadel," Lancel cut in.

"I'm Forlong by the way," he said, "nice to meet you Lancel Lannister… who's the other fellow?"

"Ser Ilyn Payne," Jaime said, "he's a knight in our service."

"Aye well and good, but can the man not introduce himself?" Forlong asked.

"King Aerys Targaryen had his tongue removed for an off-color remark before Robert's Rebellion," Jaime explained, "he hasn't been very talkative since then."

"Sorry to hear it Ser Ilyn," Forlong said, "I might be making a bit of an off color remark myself, but it seems like you Westerosi don't have very good luck with kings…"

"No," Jaime said quietly as they continued to rise in the small wooden box, "we don't."

 **A/N: The big confrontation draws near...**

 **L'Etranger0 - I'm not planning on doing chapters as part of the main story which show how the Westerlands got teleported, it's one of many topics I think I'll end up doing an omake or two on after the story is concluded, which is probably going to be a pretty long time from now.**

 **Mr I hate znt nobles kill em - sorry to put it off another two chapters but I want to build this thing into a really big finish**

 **Duesal Bladesinger - Tywin's not a forgiving man... Jaime is likely to be a bit more lenient if he's allowed any say in it though.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Tarbeck will probably go to Rohan, sure Tywin _might_ honor the deal, but even if he did Tarbeck would probably be on his shit list for a long time to come. Easier just to go and start a new fiefdom in Rohan. **


	85. LXXXII Jaime Lannister

**LXXXII**

 **Jaime Lannister**

The lift came to a slow stop as they reached the highest level. The other three men were quiet for a moment, as though waiting for him to make the first move. He sighed, _this is it then,_ hesitantly he began fumbling in the dark for a door handle. A moment later he found it and slowly, hoping to avoid noise, he slid it open, revealing a hallway that he recognized as one passing between some of the personal chambers of the family and the throne room. He stepped out hesitantly, and when he was sure there was no one else in the hallway he gestured for the others to follow him. He took a moment to look back at the lift, the door was patterned in the same manner as the rest of the wall, _no wonder I never noticed it…_ he was about to slide it back shut be decided against it, _we might need to leave here in a hurry, I don't want to be fumbling around for it._

They crept down the hallway, a difficult task for four men wearing heavy armor, but soon Jaime saw the door which lead to the throne room itself, from this distance they could hear voices.

"They've agreed your highness, they'll be sending up envoys soon."

"Excellent," he heard Joffrey say, "As soon as we have them all in one place make your move."

An angry frown came over Jaime's face as he realized who Joffrey was talking about, _I suppose we weren't the only ones who weren't planning to keep the truce._ He held up his hand ordering the men behind him to stop moving. Peering ever so slightly around the corner he saw that the hostages were seated on the far side of the room, a small group of four goblins watching over them. Joffrey was seated on the throne and an immense orc, almost the size of a small troll, was lounging nearby with a large black hammer. There were more orcs in the room as well, larger black skinned figures that looked more like the orcs of Mordor than the smaller creatures he'd fought in the battle outside the city. He pulled his head back and thought a moment.

He waited for those in the room to start talking again, apparently discussing what they wanted to eat, before whispering to his companions quietly, "there are four guarding the hostages, maybe a dozen altogether, one of them is big, _Clegane_ big."

"Between us I think we can take that many," Forlong whispered back, "we might need to double up if the leader is as big as you say."

"Is Joffrey among them?" Lancel asked.

Jaime nodded, "We'll go after the ones near the hostages first, we'll have the element of surprise and it shouldn't be hard to clear a path for them back to the hallway. After we free them you bring them back here Lancel."

"Why do I have to do it?" Lancel started, I'm just as much a warrior as any of-"

"Relax boy, you'll only be out of the fight a minute or two," Forlong cut him off. Lancel glowered, but this seemed to satisfy him. "What's the plan after that?" Forlong continued, "We won't be able to go back down the lift with the hostages…"

"We kill Joffrey Baratheon," Jaime said simply, "Once we've gotten Genna and the others out stay close and stay near the walls, if we let ourselves get surrounded they'll make short work of us."

"What's that noise?" he heard a voice in the other room call, "I think I heard a voice over there…"

 _No time left for planning,_ he looked back at his companions and nodded once before reaching across his back and drawing his sword. As he ran into the room a few of the orcs noticed him immediately, and their shocked cries caused others to turn and see them.

"Where did they come from!?" Joffrey shouted in surprise, scrambling off the throne.

"KILL THEM!" the large goblin bellowed as the others drew their weapons and ran forward, but it was too late, they'd already nearly reached Genna and the others. He slashed at the first of the four guards, causing a spray of black blood as his blade crossed it's neck. To his left he saw Ilyn Payne run his blade through another's chest, lifting it high off the ground as he tossed it.

"Jaime! Thank the Seven!" he heard his aunt Genna's voice and looked up from his kill to see her and Myrielle, along with a woman and two children he didn't recognize.

"Aunt Genna with me!" Lancel shouted, waving them towards the hallway, idly Jaime noticed that the tip of his blade dripped black ichor as well.

" _Him?!"_ Myrielle asked incredulously.

"Don't argue just go!" Jaime shouted, raising Brightroar to block the attack of one of the first orcs that had reached them.

"What about Tommen?" Genna asked, pointing towards the throne. Jaime's heart sunk as he saw Tommen on the other side of the approaching goblins. The boy was being held near Joffrey, there was no way to reach him without a fight.

"I'll get Tommen, now go with Lancel!" he shouted, Genna paused, but finally picked up the hem of her dress, running behind Lancel. The rest of the hostages followed her and he breathed a sigh of relief before turning back to the ongoing fight. Just as the wave of goblins was about to reach them seemingly from nowhere Forlong appeared at his side and swung his massive axe in a wide arc, catching one of the goblins in the side with such force that it flew through the air and into several of it's fellows, causing the rest to stop their charge

"Tell Mandos who sent you!" Forlong cried with a ferocity that surprised Jaime. The fat man put his hand on Jaime's chest and forced him to pull back towards the rear wall. A moment later Ilyn Payne joined them, a strange smile on his face.

 _At least someone's having a good time,_ he thought as the three of them closed ranks. Seeing this the goblins remained just out of reach, hesitant to rush at them and be the first one struck down.

"Out of the way, out of the way," he heard a booming voice call. A shadow fell over them as the enormous orc walked forward, hammer in hand. "So you must be Jaime Lannister," the beast said, seeing his confusion it chuckled, "Your armor's not so filthy that I can't see the gold underneath. Know me as Barg, son of Bolg, son of Azog!"

"That's my uncle all right," Joffrey said, appearing at his side, "if you had any honor you would slay these two at my command and return to my kingsguard!"

"Honor?" Forlong asked incredulously, "Are my ears starting to go?"

"It's true," Jaime said quietly, "I took an oath before gods and men to serve and protect my king," he raised his voice, "now though I must do so again in the face of another mad king!"

"Die then," Joffrey spat, "justice for traitors!"

"JUSTICE FOR TRAITORS!" the smaller goblins repeated, cackling wildly and holding their swords up.

"The king has spoken!" Barg shouted bringing his hammer down at them. The three men all barely moved out of the way in time, causing the hammer to strike the stone floor, cracking it and sending shards of stone flying upwards. They were forced apart and the goblins ran to engage them separately

He found himself alone facing the large orc, _there's no way I can block that hammer!_ He leapt to the side as it came down again, and his eyes went wide with shock as the monstrous orc lifted the hammer with such speed that it might have been made of tin. Barg swept it around again in a wide arc, Jaime barely ducked under the swipe, the force of the blow causing the immense goblin to spin slightly. He took the opportunity to slash at the orc's exposed arm, eliciting a sharp squeal. He was dismayed to see that the cut was shallow as Barg hefted the hammer for another strike.

"You'll pay for that you little whelp!" the great goblin roared as he charged. Jaime found himself forced backwards towards the wall again, he ducked behind a decorative stone column but another blow from the massive hammer reduced it to rubble, causing the lower half to collapse over and the upper half to rain down bits of marble on the two of them. There was a creaking sound and both looked up to see the remnants of the column detach from the ceiling, falling down towards them. They each stepped away as it made contact with a crash, Jaime raised his arm to keep the flying stones from striking his eyes, and he felt a few stings as pieces hit his exposed cheeks.

"For the Seven!" he heard Lancel call from somewhere. As the dust settled he lowered his arm and saw that Forlong and Ilyn Payne were making short work of the few goblins that continued to run at them. Turning to the door he realized that more goblins were beginning to enter the room, no doubt lured by the sounds of battle.

"Forlong! Payne! Get the door!" He shouted. Forlong looked in that direction and nodded, waving Payne with him as they charged at the gates to the throne room.

"Uncle Jaime lookout!" Tommen cried, Jaime turned towards the sound to see Joffrey aiming a crossbow. Jaime's eyes widened as the bolt flew just to the left of his head, nicking his ear. A snarl came over his face and he began to move towards the boy, who was now reloading his weapon.

Before he could attack Joffrey he hear Lancel scream. Turning his head quickly he saw his cousin flying through the air towards the wall, which he hit with a sick crack.

"Ilyn get to Lancel!" he shouted, causing the bald knight to sprint towards his downed cousin.

"Too slow, by half," Barg shouted in triumph, raising his black hammer to strike against Forlong, who just barely slammed a bar in place over the closed door before moving away from the attack.

His eyes lingered on Joffrey briefly before he growled angrily and turned back towards the goblin king. He ran forward, his sword held high, but with the skill and speed of any of the legendary swordsman of Westeros Barg spotted him and lifted the handle of his weapon to block the attack with a ringing sound. Surprising him yet again the pommel of the massive hammer swung and caught him in the gut, knocking the wind out of him.

"A quick warrior, for a man," Barg sneered as he raised the hammer again, but before he could do so Forlong's axe blade caught it and slid up the handle, catching the head of the hammer and preventing the blow from falling downward. With a grunting noise the two separated, each panting with exertion.

"You're damn strong," Barg commented as he inhaled deeply.

"A leader such as you knows that it's not only strength that wins a fight like this," Forlong replied twirling his axe slightly as he moved to help Jaime up.

"Indeed," Barg replied as a pair of orcs came to his side, "I'd expect that from a man such as you… Might I guess that you are Forlong of Lossarnach?"

"I am," Forlong replied, "A fat old man now to be sure, but if you would satisfy my ego… what news of me reaches the Misty Mountains?"

"We hear of a wrathful lord with a broad axe," Barg replied, "a bane of the men of Harad and the orcs of Minas Morgul."

Forlong laughed, "Wrathful he says! Be you friend or foe know that I also hear tales of you Barg son of Bolg, stories of the great orc lord of the Misty Mountains reach us even in the green hills of Lossarnach."

Barg smiled cruelly, "A true gentleman to the end! I'll be sure to tell the story of our meeting."

"It'll be _me_ telling the stories," Forlong muttered, "keep the little ones off me Ser Jaime."

"Are you sure you're up for this?" Jaime asked, eyeing the huge orc.

"Allow me to answer that with a story," Forlong said loudly, walking towards the Great Goblin.

"A story?" Barg asked, intrigued, "I'm afraid I might have to cut you off before the end of it!" He swung the hammer at them again but as Jaime moved away Forlong raised the steel handle of his axe high, catching the blow with a grunt. Though the old man sunk to his knees he held the axe up and with a roar he rose again, pushing the hammer away.

"There was once a white wolf in Lossarnach," Forlong began, "a savage beast, it killed a number of livestock and even men who were sent to guard against it." One of the smaller orcs ran at the lord of Lossarnach, but Jaime blocked it's attack and slashed it across the chest, dropping it even as Forlong stood back up.

"And I suppose you were sent to slay it?" Barg asked before bringing the hammer around again, this time instead of blocking it Forlong stepped back nimbly before bringing his axe up against the great goblin's belly. To Jaime's dismay the goblin lord caught the strike with the pommel of his hammer and shoved Forlong back violently.

"Aye, I was," Forlong said, stumbling, "And I tracked it to a small farm at the edge of domain… It was night, I met the beast's eyes and I knew then that I would not kill it."

"And yet here you are," Barg said pacing around them slowly, "so how did you escape?"

"Escape?" Forlong exclaimed, "We slew the beast!"

Barg raised an eyebrow, " _we?_ "

"Of course," Forlong said with a smile, "What fool would go after such a beast alone? Much easier for one man to distract it while another more skilled in stealth comes around behind."

Barg's eyes went wide and he whirled around just in time to see Ser Ilyn stab at him, catching him in his side right between gaps of his patchwork armor. There was a scream, the remaining goblin at his side ran at the two of them with a battle cry, but Jaime easily caught it's attack before shoving it to the ground and stabbing downward. For his part Forlong moved forward and brought his axe down into the back of the now staggered Great Goblin, causing a cry of pain as he fell completely to the floor.

"I'll be sure to tell the story of our meeting," Forlong said as he wrenched the axe loose. His victory was short lived, a crossbow bolt suddenly struck the Lord of Lossarnarch in the back, causing him to grunt in pain, "Hang it all!" he cried, stumbling forward to his knees. Jaime turned to see Joffrey, still standing near the throne next to Tommen, holding the crossbow.

"I am the son of Robert Baratheon!" Joffrey screamed shrilly, "You will not take a throne that is rightfully mine!"

Seeing Forlong bleeding on the floor, and Lancel's crumpled form leaning against the wall Jaime felt something within him break, "Robert Baratheon isn't your father!" he shouted angrily, "I am!"

Suddenly there was silence in the room, "What?" Joffrey asked, shocked, "These lies will not avail you Uncle Jaime, I've heard them before, why Uncle Stannis-"

"Was correct," Jaime said, walking towards Joffrey slowly, "You are my son…" He sighed, "Joffrey abandon this madness… please."

Joffrey's shock turned to rage, "Madness? Uncle Stannis lied to gain the throne for himself," a sudden disgusted look came over Joffrey's face, "And you're doing the same!"

"I'm not," Jaime pleaded with the boy, "I desire neither crowns nor lands, I only wish that you would stand down," _stand down and allow me some other path than the one that lays before me…_

"No," Joffrey said quietly, "I know what awaits me in defeat. I'm not the fool you all think I am." He dropped the crossbow and drew his sword, bringing it to Tommen's neck, causing his younger brother to whimper. The door banged loudly as something on the other side rammed into it, Joffrey smiled, "Come Tommen, let's leave our _father_ here with his dead friends." With a blade at Tommen's neck the two backed slowly towards the door to one of the Rock's higher towers.

"Gods," Jaime swore as the pair disappeared up the stairway. He turned to see Ser Ilyn standing next to Lancel's unmoving body, meeting his eyes the mute knight shook his head solemnly. He moved over to Forlong, the big man groaned as he approached.

"I'm still alive if anyone's wondering," he said quietly.

"Ser Ilyn help me!" he said as he tried to lift Forlong, the lord of Lossarnach cried out in pain as he was forced upright. The other knight came to his side and they helped Forlong to his feet, though the man's breath was still labored.

"Was…" Forlong breathed in sharply, "Gods this hurts!" he panted, "Was that true? Are you the boy's father? Please tell me it was some ploy to distract him…"

"It wasn't," Jaime replied.

"Damnation…" Forlong whispered, "Jaime do you know what this means?"

"I've had plenty of time to think on it," Jaime said bitterly, "what do you think you can say that I haven't already realized?"

"Jaime… By Iluvitar I don't know what to do," Forlong cried in despair, "Turambar's sin is not a thing that can be forgotten, even when it is committed by a friend."

Jaime sighed, "I'm going to go after him… when I come back we'll discuss what must be done." His eyes lingered a moment at Ser Ilyn, as unreadable as always, _at least I needn't worry about him talking…_ "Take care of him, I'll be back in a moment."

He walked towards the tower entrance without another word. He hesitated a moment in front of the door before unbuckling his scabbard from his back, letting it fall to the ground with a thud. _If I'm to suffer for my choices… let me suffer now, at the hands of my son._ He slowly walked up the steps, he knew his loud footsteps would let Joffrey know he was coming, but he no longer cared. The light grew brighter as he went higher, until finally he came to the top to see the sun was coming up fully now, Joffrey and Tommen were facing away from him, watching it rise. He could see that Joffrey still had a sword on his brother.

"My Kingdom is a beautiful isn't it," Joffrey commented, "A golden land for a golden king." The pair turned to face him, tears streamed down Tommen's face.

"I'm unarmed Joffrey," Jaime said, holding his hands wide, "let your brother go."

Joffrey's eyes narrowed, but he moved away from Tommen slightly, "You spoke lies to distract me didn't you?"

"No…" he replied quietly, "I told only the truth."

Joffrey was quiet a moment, only the sound of the wind blowing through the top of the tower breaking the silence. Finally he pushed Tommen away entirely, leveling his sword at Jaime.

"Then I won't let you leave here alive!" Joffrey snarled. He lunged at Jaime, sword in hand, but he was tackled from behind by Tommen, screaming angrily. The two boys rolled on the ground a moment and before Jaime could react Tommen came up holding the sword. He was breathing heavily, his eyes red from crying and rage on his face, his teeth bared in anger.

"Tommen wait!" Jaime shouted, but before he could say anything else Tommen thrust the blade into Joffrey's stomach, causing him to stagger backwards towards the tower railing.

" _No!"_ Jaime whispered as he rushed forward, shoving Tommen aside. He barely grabbed Joffrey's breastplate before he fell over the edge.

Their eyes met again and he saw hate and pain in Joffrey's eyes, " _Father,"_ he rasped, "you'll die for this, you will _all_ die for this!"

 _Burn them all!_ Aery's voice echoed through his mind as he released his grip on the breastplate, letting his son tumble to the rocks below.

 **A/N: Say your farewells to your golden king my friends!**

 **Pyromania101 - I'm trying not to rush things too much since I think some of the earlier parts would've been better if they'd been stretched out a bit longer, sorry if the pacing dragged a bit.**

 **Saswott2000, Eduard Kassel - Jaime doesn't particularly want a crown and he's got a living father besides, he's certainly done some deeds worthy of a crown by this point though.**

 **Jackalope089 - Faramir and Eowyn haven't met in this fic.**

 **Reader - Punitive military detail is probably what Farman and the "Faith Militant" are going to be doing for awhile.**


	86. LXXXIII Cerenna Lannister

**LXXXIII**

 **Cerenna Lannister**

Cerenna felt relief wash over her as she saw Myrielle and her aunt Genna walking out of the gates, escorted by a pair of guards.

"Cerenna!" Myrielle cried, running towards her. The two embraced in a firm hug.

"The tower!" her father shouted, pointing at one of the Rock's towers. They all looked upwards to see the red banner of House Lannister flying proudly in the morning sun. "That's the signal!" Stafford shouted, waving to the assembled men, "storm the castle at once!" The remaining men waiting with them ran into the Rock to convey the message and begin the attack.

"Father you're hurt!" Myrielle said suddenly, noticing their father's crutch, "what happened?"

He looked away, embarrassed a moment, "It happened during the battle, but I'm fine my dear."

Cerenna suddenly realized how tired she was, she'd expected some weariness, having been up all night, but seeing Myrielle back seemed to slow her wits and heavy her eyelids. She was about to ask her father's leave to find a bed and rest but she suddenly felt selfish, realizing that the men had been up all night as well, and fighting a battle to boot. She resolved to remain at the gates until the Rock was cleared. Moving to her father's side she helped him to the nearby gatehouse, a table and chairs had been brought out and she helped him sidle into one before sitting down herself.

"It's good to see you made it Stafford," Genna said. She paused a moment, "Do you know if Emmon and my children…" she left the rest unsaid.

"They were with me when we withdrew from the gate," Stafford replied, "It was Lionel and Tion that carried me after my… injury. They left to stand with Lord Westerling after that."

Genna sighed with relief, "I know the fighting is not over, but I am glad to hear it."

"Not everyone's going to be so lucky," Stafford said grimly, "A lot of good men died today." He lifted his hand to his temples, closing his eyes he rubbed them slowly, "Gods above… let this be my last battle, I don't have another in me."

They waited in silence for a time, there were occasional sounds of fighting from within the Rock, but most of the ongoing battle was too far for them to hear. Cerenna found herself struggling to keep her eyes open as she waited with them at the gate for news. She decided to allow her eyes to close for a few moments, but sleep took her almost immediately.

She was awoken a few moments later by a giggling Myrielle, "Does Prince Eomer know that you snore Cerenna?"

Though still groggy she managed a glare at her sister, "And why would Prince Eomer know of my daughter's sleeping habits Myrielle?" their father asked in a low voice.

"W-Whatever you've heard it's nothing but rumor," Cerenna sputtered. She met Myrielle's eyes, "likely spread by courtiers with less grace and wit than is necessary for their station!"

"Perhaps," Stafford said, "but I think I might need to have a talk with the Prince regardless."

"It's Jaime!" Genna said suddenly, cutting off their conversation." They all turned to see the golden knight walking out through the gates, holding a crying Tommen in his arms as he approached.

"It's over," Jaime said simply, lowering the sobbing boy to the ground. "Joffrey and the goblin leader are dead, without their command the enemy panicked and was overcome with ease."

"What happened up there?" Stafford asked with awe.

Jaime and Tommen looked at each other a moment before Jaime continued, "I slew Joffrey in the highest tower. He took Tommen and refused to surrender, there was no other way."

"A kingslayer once more," Genna murmured.

If Jaime heard her he said nothing, "Lancel fell against the goblin king. He was brave at the end, and though he may have made mistakes I would see him laid to rest in the Hall of Heroes."

"It will be done," Stafford said solemnly, "what of Lord Forlong and Ser Ilyn?"

As if in answer to his question Ser Ilyn, in the company of three other men, appeared carrying the immense Gondorian Lord out of the Rock, a crossbow bolt still sticking out of his back. Though Forlong's eyes were shut Cerenna could make out the rise and fall of his chest, he lived still.

"We'll get him a maester right away," Genna said, gesturing for the men to carry Forlong inside the gatehouse. "How are things inside the Rock?"

"Aside from the remaining goblins?" Jaime asked, "plenty of corpses, ours and theirs. Blood doesn't wash out easily, it will be days, weeks even, before the Rock is fit for habitation again."

"I'd worried as much," Genna sighed, "Our cousins the Lannetts have a spacious manor near the harbor, I'm sure they can house us for the time being."

"A suitably noble branch of the family to be sure," Stafford said, "and wealthy enough to host Tommen's coronation until we get back on our feet." There was an uncomfortable silence at that.

Finally Genna spoke, "Will the smallfolk be willing to accept another Baratheon king after this? I can't be the only one who's heard the talk…"

"You're not," Jaime said bitterly.

"I don't want to be king," Tommen spoke up suddenly, sniffing and drying his eyes, "I…" he looked at Jaime again, "I don't want to be like Joffrey…"

Stafford scowled, "He's just a boy. He doesn't know what he's saying."

"That may be true," Genna replied, "but between the boy's reluctance and the mood of our subjects I think a coronation would be inappropriate right now."

"Can we not wait for Uncle Tywin's decision?" Cerenna asked, tired of being left out.

"I don't care," Jaime said tiredly, "consult one another, write father, hells write Tyrion if you must. I am going to find a place to rest. Please come and find me if Lord Forlong wakes up."

Before leaving Jaime went to one knee and faced Tommen. He looked uncomfortable for a moment before he finally spoke, "Tommen… you were brave up there. I'm sorry things happened the way they did." He looked at them all a moment before whispering something in the boy's ear that the rest of them couldn't hear. With that he stood back up and slowly walked into the barracks next to the gatehouse, presumably to find the bed he'd spoken of earlier.

The next few days were almost like a dream. The Lannetts had been happy to host them, providing luxurious quarters, not only to them but to Prince Eomer, who was just down the hall from her and Myrielle. In the wake of the victory there were celebrations, wine flowed freely and a joyous mood overcame the city of Lannisport, which had been spared much of the expected pillaging and destruction. Bards sung and played loudly in the streets, each eagerly trying to outdo the others as many new verses were written to "The Rains of Castamere," all in competition with one another.

It was nearly a week after the battle, walking arm in arm in the streets of Lannisport with Prince Eomer, that she heard another singer trying to make his own variation catch on.

 _And who are you, King Joffrey asked,_

 _Who dares to tell me no?_

 _'fore stallions white, or lions gold_

 _My orcs will bring their swords,_

 _And theirs are long and sharp, my lord,_

 _as long and sharp as yours._

 _And so he spoke, and so he spoke,_

 _Spreading pain and fear,_

 _But now his head rests on our wall,_

 _Put there with a cheer._

 _Yes now his head rests on our wall,_

 _Put there with a cheer._

"Nice to hear you mentioned in that one," Cerenna commented, "most just mention Jaime and I even heard one give _Lancel_ of all people the credit for the victory."

"Lancel was brave enough in the end," Eomer said as they continued. The singer took no notice of them as they passed, today they walked with no guards, wearing plain clothing as though they were ordinary smallfolk. "We could have used him even now. Ser Jaime may have disbanded the Faith Militant, but it's members have been sentenced to hunt the remaining goblins. Lancel might have found some honor in that."

"I still don't know that I agree with allowing them to remain in the Westerlands," Cerenna said, "you weren't here when they took the city… it was terrible."

"They won't be alone," Eomer said, "Ser Jaime sent a letter to Lord Farman asking him to take command of them this morning. There's even been talk of forming some manner of brotherhood for the purpose of clearing the orcs in the fashion of one you had back in Westeros… what was it again?"

"The Night's Watch," Cerenna answered as they neared the port, "It was a group of men forced to guard our border under pain of death. I don't see the point of a new Watch here in Middle Earth though, there's no wall for them to guard and how long could it possibly take to clear the orcs out of the hills?"

"It will take years," Eomer replied, "they are crafty, they multiply quickly, and they are fond of mountains and caves, of which these lands have plenty, but I'd prefer not to dwell on that so soon. Tell me, how is Septon Archer?"

"He's the High Septon now," she corrected as they walked through a rear city gate and onto the beach. "When they reach that office they must give up their names as a sign of humility."

Eomer scoffed at that, "Even if he seems a good sort I've never known a man to learn humility from a higher title."

"He's exactly what the Faith needs right now," she said. She stopped a moment to kick off her shoes, relishing the feel of the sand on her toes. "He's already provisionally excommunicated Ezekiel and the rest who fled South, I'm sure between that and the bounties my father placed on their capture we'll see the more radical elements curtailed soon enough."

"I can't pretend to know the significance of being excommunicated," Eomer said with a grin, "and in any case I think you might enjoy our next activity more than talking about the state of the world." He waved his hand to a pair of horses, reins held by his squire, Podrick Payne.

Her eyes widened and she smiled, "so we're finally going to have that ride?"

He grinned back and nodded before turning to his squire "How's the leg Payne?" he asked. Looking down Cerenna noticed the boy had both a splint and a small crutch he was leaning on.

"Well enough m'lord," he replied, "the maester said I can walk a little each day until it's better." He smiled and bowed at her, "If there's nothing else Prince Eomer I'll take my leave…"

"Go in peace Podrick Payne," Eomer said, bowing back at him slightly, "I'll bring the horses back to the stable when we're done."

As the young man left Eomer helped her up onto the horse, she unbuckled a clasp at her waist, allowing her plain brown dress to fall away revealing a pair of trousers she'd had made for riding. As she bundled it up and placed it in her saddlebag she looked down at the pants with a frown.

"So the ladies of Rohan don't ride sidesaddle?" she asked.

He laughed, "I wouldn't so much as mention it to them, my sister is nearly as skilled a rider as I am, and most women in Rohan grow up on horseback the same as men." She steadied herself and spurred the horse forward, struggling to keep upright as it began trotting ahead.

As she found her balance and kept pace with the prince a thought crossed her mind, "How did you manage to sneak us out? Where does my family think we are today?"

He shrugged, "Your sister told me she would take care of it. I told her I wanted to teach you the proper way to ride a horse."

"Oh gods…" she said as she fought the urge to bury her head in her hands, "Myrielle is never going to let me hear the end of it."

Eomer frowned, "What do you-" he suddenly realized the double entendre he'd unwittingly made and his face went red, "I don't suppose your sister is responsible for certain _other_ rumors about us?"

"So you've heard them too?" she asked with an embarrassed smile.

"Lord Westerling loudly congratulated me for "taming the lioness" only a few hours after the battle was over," he said tersely. "Your father decided to question me after the war council earlier today, though I think I managed to convince him your virtue is intact." He smiled, "Though perhaps he was more willing to give me the benefit of the doubt since I asked for your hand in marriage shortly after."

Her heart froze, "And what did he say?"

"He said he would consent to it if you would, that you had turned away all other suitors he had arranged for you, and that he could be no help to me in winning your heart." He turned to her, his form framed against the clear blue sky and the white foam waves of the sea, "Cerenna Lannister, will you marry me?" he asked simply.

She stopped her horse next to his as they stared at the waves rolling on the beach, "I will," she replied with a smile. A tear tried to roll its way down her face but she wiped it away quickly before leaning in to kiss him again. Suddenly she felt herself tipping and with horror she realized she'd leaned too far out of her saddle, causing her to fall softly to the sand with a _thud._

"Are you all right Cerenna?" he laughed, dismounting to help her up.

"Yes," she replied, standing up as she brushed the sand off herself, "I think it would be for the best to leave this part out when telling the tale of our romance."

"We'll see," he said in a smug tone as he hugged her close. The two of them stayed like that a moment, watching the waves roll up the beach. "I'll be leaving for Rohan soon," he said quietly, "Lord Tywin has commanded Ser Jaime to bring the bulk of his army North to defeat the armies of the Wizard Saruman. Jaime has so far refused to march, but if he continues to wallow in this melancholy that has taken hold over him Lord Westerling and I will be forced to lead the army again."

"Might I come with you?" she asked hesitantly.

He sighed, "I don't know that it would be safe for you until we've dealt with the threat of Isengard. The moment the Wizard is defeated I will send for you, but even in the midst of an army I don't know that I can guarantee your safety." Seeing her disappointed look he smiled, "you will see Rohan soon enough, I promise you that."

From somewhere inside the city a bell chimed, marking high noon, "We should start heading back," she said, "Father said there's to be some meeting in the Rock this afternoon."

"He and your aunt are forcing him to make a decision on who will wear the crown," Eomer replied, "I was asked to attend as well."

"Do you think Jaime will crown himself?" she asked as he helped her back onto her horse.

"I don't know Ser Jaime well," Eomer admitted, mounting his own steed, "but he doesn't seem to want to be a king."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"His legend has become so great that he is the talk of every tavern, inn, and campfire in the kingdom," Eomer replied, "If he wanted a kingdom he would only need to say so and the throne would be his."

"Well he should make his decision soon," Cerenna said as they passed through the gate and into the city again, "Or someone will make it for him."

 **A/N: Another two-parter guys, you know the drill.**


	87. LXXXIV The Kingslayer

**LXXXIV**

 **The Kingslayer**

Jaime sat on his father's throne, bathed in the light of the stained glass windows above. As soon as the throne room had been cleared and cleaned Genna and Stafford had insisted he begin holding court inside of Casterly Rock again, a "matter of appearance" they'd called it. He waited there now as the court page, Genna's youngest son little Walder, brought him the latest set of letters he was supposed to read over. In spite of his grim mood he smiled a little as he saw one from Tyrion in Rohan, he eagerly tore it open and began to read.

 _To my brother Jaime_

 _I write to offer you congratulations and condolences, you have done what needed to be done and you have done it well. Father has written telling us that you will soon be marching here to aid in our battle against the Wizard. I look forward to seeing you again and I think I am ready to talk about matters best left out of print._

 _Tyrion Lannister, advisor to the regent of the throne of Rohan_

 _Another matter to weigh on my mind,_ he thought miserably. The last time he'd seen Tyrion the little man had been in no mood for talk and certainly not for forgiveness… though perhaps on their next meeting there would finally be reconciliation.

He turned to the other letter he'd received, this one from his father. With a sigh he opened it.

 _Jaime_

 _I am writing because by all reports King Tommen has not been crowned yet and your army has not begun to march. A certain amount of rest and resupply is necessary for any army after a battle, but this hesitation borders on fecklessness. I will-_

He balled up the rest of the letter and threw it across the room angrily, _I'll march when I'm damned well ready to._

Looking at the letter he sighed angrily, "Walder," he said, addressing the page.

"Yes Ser Jaime?" the boy asked eagerly.

"Take that note, see if you can smooth it out, and bring it to Ser Stafford. If there's anything important in it have him tell me later." The boy scurried off to obey his instructions, leaving he passed the massive form of Forlong as he entered the room.

"You're not supposed to be up and walking around yet," Jaime said quietly.

"Bugger that," the fat man replied, "Wounds heal better when you move around and get the blood flowing. Besides, I'm old enough that everything hurts when I move anyway, but I didn't come here to talk about my joints."

Jaime looked around to make sure they were alone, with the Rock still being cleared there were few servants, and when he was satisfied he spoke, "If you were going to tell everyone about what happened… about what you heard, you would have done it by now."

"You're right," Forlong said, huffing as he moved closer, evidently his wound still pained him more than he let on, "I'm not going to tell anyone, about Tommen's role in things or his… parentage, but we still need to have an account of things, you and I."

"To the first secret I sought only to spare the boy the infamy that would come to him if it became known that it was he who stabbed his brother," Jaime said, leaning back in the chair, "but I suppose you're here to speak about the second. Speak your peace then."

"I've been in bed since the battle," Forlong said as he shifted uncomfortably, "I've been thinking about what you should do to make things right…"

"Do you think I haven't thought it over myself?" he asked bitterly, "I've already killed Joffrey, what more is there to do?"

"Even after the arrow, or in my case the bolt, is pulled out of a wound there is still much healing to be done…" he patted his shoulder a moment and winced, "I'm sorry to ask, but is there another seat in here somewhere?"

"Most of them are still having blood scrubbed off of them," Jaime said as he stood up, "Sit here," he gestured at the throne.

Forlong eyed the throne uncomfortably, "Are you sure it's appropriate?"

"We're the only ones here," he said irritably, "just sit before you pass out." Forlong glared at him, but finally eased himself into the chair, grunting as he got comfortable.

"As I was saying," he continued, "you have followed in the steps of Turin Turambar."

Jaime frowned, "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with Turin Turambar Forlong."

"He was a legendary hero of the First Age," Forlong explained, "he too lay with his sister… though unknowingly."

"And how did _he_ make up for it?" Jaime asked.

"He killed himself," Forlong said in a low voice, "that is _not_ what I believe you should do."

Jaime allowed himself a small smirk, "Well I suppose we're in agreement there at least. What should I do then since I've so offended gods and man?"

"Take up the crown," Forlong said simply, "rise and heal the wounds you've wrought on these lands and your people."

"I don't want to be king," Jaime replied, "I've seen men ruled and ruined by thrones. To some men power brings pleasure, but I'm afraid it's a vice I've never cared for."

Forlong laughed loudly, and to Jaime's ears almost mockingly, "That's rich boy. You have the right of it, power in the proper hands rarely brings it's wielder any happiness, but this crown is not to be your prize…" he withdrew a black crown from somewhere, with gold trim and red rubies, Jaime realized suddenly that it was Joffrey's, "this crown is to be your penance."

"Where did you get that?" Jaime whispered.

"There was some concern about where the king was to be laid to rest," Forlong explained, holding the crown up so the red gems caught the light, "madman and monster though he was your aunt and uncle did not want Joffrey's gravesite desecrated… it was decided Ser Ilyn would bury him in a location known only to himself, who better to keep a secret after all? He brought me this shortly afterwards, why I cannot say."

"I'm not the heir," Jaime protested, his eyes never leaving the black circlet in Forlong's hands, "Tommen is-"

"Another abomination born of your sins," Forlong cut him off. Seeing his surprised expression Forlong sighed, "Jaime it's not hard to see the resemblance when one knows to look for it. I haven't met the girl Myrcella but I would guess she has blonde hair as well?"

"She does," Jaime admitted bitterly. "So what then?" Anger crept into his voice, "must I kill all of my children? My sister as well?"

Forlong sighed tiredly, "No… nothing like that, but you must realize you cannot put another of them on the throne, it is an affront to nature and Eru Iluvitar."

"We aren't deciding a king for nature and Eru Iluvitar," Jaime spat back.

"Do not mock the creator boy!" Forlong nearly shouted, calming himself he continued, though he still glared at Jaime, "horror and madness followed Joffrey, kindhearted or not if you sit him on that throne they will follow Tommen. There are more than just mortal eyes upon us Jaime."

 _He's right enough about that,_ Jaime thought remembering what the elf had told him in Osgiliath, "And I suppose you'll tell everyone the truth if I refuse the crown then?" he asked quietly.

"Of course not," Forlong replied indignantly. He forced himself up out of the chair again, "your secrets are your own Jaime Lannister." The seriousness seemed to melt off the man and his familiar friendly smile came over his face, "I wondered for a time why Lord Denethor asked me to accompany you. You hardly needed the swords, and there's plenty of lords more useful in both command and battle than I… maybe he knew you would need a friend, maybe it was just a chance thing, a fluke of luck… In any case I believe I was meant to be here to help you as you make this decision as much as you were meant to make it."

"Meant to force the decision on me you mean," Jaime said, but something in him was a bit touched by the other man's words. "What will you do with that?" he asked, pointing to the black crown.

Forlong looked at it suddenly, as though he'd forgotten he was holding it, "I think I'll take it down to a smithy and have the rubies smashed out, then I'm trading them for a barrel of the strongest drink I can find."

"Save some for me," Jaime said grimly, "I need to meet my Uncle Stafford and Aunt Genna down at the Lannett's manor soon… I believe they want to talk about crowns as well."

"I was going to warn you about their ambush," Forlong said, "seemed only fair after I already blindsided you once. Come! Let's go there and meet it together."

"I'll have to find us some transportation," Jaime said with amusement, "I don't think you're up for a horse quite yet old man."

A short time later the two of them were riding a carriage through the streets to the Lannett's estate, it was large for a dwelling in the city, a regal house overlooking the port. The Lannett's had split from the main Lannister line hundreds of years before the Targaryen conquest, but they still remained friendly with the Lannisters of the Rock, carrying the family's gold half the world over in their mighty trade fleet. Since The Arrival they had sent their ships north looking for new opportunities, and the Lannetts now had a near monopoly on the sale of pipe weed from someplace called "The Shire."

As the carriage came to a stop a pair of Forlong's men came around the side to help him out, though he was recovering faster than Jaime had expected he still had trouble moving about, and the Gondorians moved to steady their lord.

Once he was out the two of them walked to the door of the Lannett manor. Without bothering to knock Jaime pushed the door open to reveal a large entryway that on other days doubled as a ballroom. He wasn't surprised to see Genna and Stafford waiting for him, but he raised an eyebrow at the presence of Cerenna and Prince Eomer waiting to one side of the room. Emmon Frey was there too, quiet as always, holding a small cup of wine in hand.

"I know what this is about," Jaime said before any of them could speak, "we will have a coronation tomorrow. Send word throughout Lannisport, have the necessary lords and ladies invited. Cerenna have your friend the High Septon prepare the formalities."

"And who is to be crowned?" Genna asked impatiently.

"My father has ordered me to crown Tommen," Jaime replied. Looking around the room he saw mixed reactions, Stafford seemed relieved, Genna, Cerenna, and Eomer disappointed, and Emmon just shrugged. Hazarding a glance back at Forlong he saw the man's face impassive.

"I will fetch the boy then," Genna said in resigned tone, "he'll need to hear it from you."

"I'm not crowning Tommen," he said quietly, "I only told you that so that you know we now act against father's wishes, anyone who wishes to wash their hands of this may do so."

"You're taking the crown?" Cerenna asked eagerly.

"I'm taking _a_ crown," he replied, "I intend to declare the Kingdom of the Rock and the Westerlands once more, my father as it's king, and myself as it's prince and heir."

"Close enough," he heard Forlong mutter from behind him.

"So you are disinheriting Tommen then?" Stafford asked quietly, "I don't know that there is any way this can be justified to the more legalistic members of the populace."

"There are few enough of them in any case," Genna said, rolling her eyes, "we're not in Westeros anymore, we needn't be shackled to the Baratheon dynasty."

"I'm sure my father will give Tommen an estate somewhere," Jaime said, "Prince Eomer, is our alleged Tarbeck going to Rohan with you?"

"He is," Eomer nodded, "I told him I would get him and his men pardoned as part of my "reward" but they seemed to think it would be better to come with me and take lands in Rohan rather than test Lord Tywin's mercy."

 _A wise move on their part,_ Jaime thought, "We'll begin rebuilding Tarbeck Hall when the war is over. It's well situated on fertile lands and rich mines, Tommen and his line can take it." He thought a moment, "Also gather the men and have them prepare to march immediately."

Eomer grinned, "I'm glad you seem to have found your fire Ser Jaime, for some time there I was worried I would be forced to take command again."

"And a good job you would have done if half the stories I've heard are true Prince Eomer, but it's time I fulfilled my own responsibilities," Jaime replied with a smile. We will leave as soon as the coronation is over."

He walked to the center of the room, looking at each of them in turn. "Since this war began I've felt off-balance, as though I've had to block a new attack from a new direction just as soon as I was about to get my bearings. Now comes the dawn of a new day, for the Westerlands, and for me. I'm tired of taking blows and now I'm ready to start hitting back, tell the men to prepare themselves, for we march to war with Isengard."

 **A/N: And with that we are done with the Westerlands invasion story arc! I hope you all enjoyed it, we'll be moving back to the Fellowship and Cersei and Kevan's adventure next.**

 **mr I hate znt nobles kill them - Royalty it is then! Even if Jaime's hiding from responsibility a little longer.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Joffrey treated Tommen like crap for a long time, there's some stuff in the books that implies there could've been some sexual abuse too. Basically Tommen snapped.**

 **Sasswot2000 - Jaime, to the public at least, seems every bit the Warrior and an ideal king. Obviously we readers know he's a lot more conflicted about it.**

 **Giansantero - thanks and welcome!**


	88. LXXXV The Hound

**LXXXV**

 **The Hound**

Sandor Clegane looked over the valley of Rivendell a final time, inhaling the deep woodland smell as it drifted through his window. _I might need to come here again someday,_ he thought. Something about this place calmed him, and even in the face of the quest to come he felt rested and ready. Today was the day they were supposed to be leaving, he'd already armored himself and had resolved to ride out of Rivendell wearing his snarling dog's helm, as he had from Winterfell what seemed like a lifetime ago.

He was surprised to hear a knock on his door, "Come in," he said as he finished buckling his sword belt.

It was the ranger Faramir, "Greetings Ser Clegane," he said slowly, "I… we need to talk."

Looking behind the ranger he saw the Wizard Gandalf, "What's this about?" Clegane asked, "I'm going with you lot, if you want me to stay you'll have to-"

"We are not here to prevent you from accompanying us master Clegane," Gandalf reassured him, "though you may wish to reconsider the prospect with what Faramir has to tell you. I am merely here to… keep the peace."

He found himself growing defensive, "So what do you have to say ranger?" he growled, "What have you done that necessitates a Wizard's protection?"

"It's your brother," Faramir said quietly, "Gregor Clegane is dead."

 _That_ was not what he'd expected, "What?" he asked incredulously, " _how?_ "

"Lord Tyrion Lannister was for a time seduced into the service of the dark lord," Gandalf said quietly, "he was able to convince your brother to aid in his plot to murder Ser Jaime Lannister."

They stood there in silence a moment, the two of them were looking at him as though they expected something, but he kept his face impassive. He was torn, Gregor's shadow had followed him throughout his life. Scarcely a night went by where he didn't have nightmares of Gregor's cruelty or pleasant dreams about his demise, hearing that he was dead… it was a shock to say the least.

"Who did it?" he asked quietly, "who was man enough to kill the Mountain that Rides?"

Now Faramir's discomfort was even more visible, "It was my own brother, Boromir, who dealt the killing blow, though he fought alongside Ser Lyle Crakehall and another man, Shagga, Son of Dolf."

 _Lyle fucking Crakehall?!_ The news that the Strongboar had been among the party that bested Gregor was almost as shocking as finding out he was dead in the first place. Crakehall was a decent swordsman and a fair knight, but the man relied on strength and brute force in battle, and against Gregor Ser Lyle would never have stood a chance. Shagga son of Dolf… the name meant nothing to Clegane, and he knew the names all of the greatest swordsmen in Westeros. _His brother Boromir did the brunt of the work then… the man either has the Stranger's own luck or he's at least as good as Aragorn…_

"Your brother must be quite the fighter," Clegane said slowly, moving closer. Gandalf's eyes went wide a moment and he gripped his staff.

"He is," Faramir said, meeting his eyes. If the ranger recognized the threat he refused to step back or acknowledge it in any way. "If you don't wish to accompany me on this journey I believe everyone will understand…"

 _Certainly no coward,_ he thought with approval, he was standing only a few inches from the man now, "There are some who might say that since he killed my brother I ought to kill his…"

"Ser Clegane…" Gandalf said in a low voice, "Choose your actions carefully…"

At that he smiled, "Those people would be wrong of course," he stepped back and he noticed Faramir seemed to exhale slightly, "Gregor never gave me a reason to want to avenge him, never gave me anything at all really except this," he pointed to his scarred face.

Faramir and even Gandalf seemed shocked, "Your brother did that to you?" the Wizard asked.

"He did," Clegane replied, "kicked me into a fireplace when I was seven…"

"Why would anyone do that to their own brother?" Faramir asked horrified.

"He said I took a toy that was his," Sandor said angrily, "I didn't take it I was just playing with it… it doesn't matter. It's not even the worst thing he's ever done… He was a monster, if your brother has wronged me by killing Gregor it's only because he's robbed me of the chance to do it myself." The tension seemed to leave the room as it became clear that he wasn't going to attack Faramir, and the three of them relaxed.

"Do you two have any other objection to me going then?" he asked, turning back to his bed where his helm was sitting.

"No, that was our only concern," Gandalf replied, "I trust we'll see you in a few hours then?"

He frowned, "A few hours? I thought we were leaving right after breakfast."

"After _second_ breakfast," Gandalf said with some amusement, "being on the road with you and Aragorn, fleeing orcs and barrow wights, scared a certain sense of pragmatism into the Hobbits, but they've rediscovered some of their Hobbitish tendencies while in Rivendell."

"Well they're going to have to get used to hard tack and wild game again," Clegane said, "what good is it to coddle them?"

"Lord Elrond believed it best to allow them one final meal in the comfort and safety of Rivendell," Gandalf explained, "the journey from the Shire was dangerous true, but the road ahead will be much worse."

"I suppose I'll go find the dwarf then," he muttered, tucking his helmet under his arm. Walking past them he made his way to the front entrance of Rivendell. As he walked he fought down a number of emotions, he found he _was_ angry at Faramir's brother, who was he to kill Gregor? There was a certain sense of happiness too, but mostly he felt numb. What kind of a world didn't have a Gregor Clegane in it? "A better one…" he muttered to himself.

Gimli too had armored and packed and was now waiting near the front gates of Elrond's manor with the Elf prince Legolas.

"Sensible to be wearing armor Clegane," Gimli barked on seeing him, "this one" he jerked his thumb at Legolas, "thinks he's going to make it all the way to Mordor in a green tunic!"

"We aren't going to be looking for battle," the elf countered, "we should travel light." He looked curiously at Clegane, "I've heard dwarves bear such burdens easily Ser Clegane, but is it wise for you to be adorned as you are?"

"I wore this the whole way here," he said, "I've gotten used to traveling in plate, to me it weighs about as much as my own skin."

"You see master elf, it is merely a matter of having the fortitude to bear it," Gimli said approvingly.

"Gandalf says the men of the Westerlands live in the mountains and mine as the dwarves do," Legolas said, "perhaps they have some dwarven blood in them."

"That I doubt," Gimli said, looking up at him, "if our friend Ser Clegane is any indication they're far too tall… Though you've said little of your country Ser Clegane, is it true that men dwell underground there as the dwarves do?"

Clegane chuckled lightly at that, "Only the Lannisters of Casterly Rock live like that, Clegane Keep is a glorified watchtower." A thought occurred to him, _with Gregor dead it's mine…_ he dismissed the thought, _the Lannisters will never let me back there, not after I left with Joffrey, and what do I need the Westerlands for anyway? Between Rivendell and the Shire there's plenty of nicer places for a man to settle down._

"Are you all right Ser Clegane?" Legolas asked, "Your mood seems to have darkened."

"I have few fond memories of my homeland," he said darkly.

"Then let no more be spoken of it," Gimli said, "There is enough hardship ahead without adding that found in memory."

The three of them waited together, making idle conversation. After a time Faramir joined them. His eyes met Clegane's a moment, but they did not speak of Gregor's death, nor of the conversation that they'd had earlier. _Still probably thinks I'm going to try killing him in his sleep,_ Sandor thought with some amusement, _If I cared about Gregor in the least I might kill him, but not in his sleep…_

Aragorn came next, he wore a camouflaged tunic of brown and green, a bow slung across one shoulder and a sword across the other.

"Strider," Legolas greeted him nodding, "Is it done? Has it been reforged?"

Aragorn responded by drawing the sword slowly, the four of them gasped as it caught the light, for it was beautiful. The pommel and guard were wrought in silver and set with a pair of dark colored gems, the blade glimmered like moonlight and runes were traced in it above a carving of a tree and seven stars.

"Narsil reforged," Aragorn said quietly, "over three thousand years and still sharp, but it is still a new blade." He thought a moment, "I will call it Andúril, the flame of the west. The dark lord shall come to fear it once more."

For once Sandor Clegane did not voice his opinion on naming swords, "That's quite the blade Aragorn," he said, looking it over, "it looks like something out of Old Valyria…"

"I'm afraid I don't know of Old Valyria," Aragorn replied as he sheathed the sword, "but Narsil was made by the Dwarven smith Telchar in the days of Beleriand."

"A fine job he did too," Gimli said nodding, "All works of Telchar are destined for great things, this one is no different." He thought a moment, "These Valyrians Clegane, they were smiths of renown?"

"Smiths and sorcerers if you believe half the legends," he replied, "they were extinct hundreds of years before The Arrival."

"Ser Jaime Lannister carries a Valyrian steel blade," Faramir said suddenly, "it is a wonder in and of itself, meaning no disrespect to your own sword Aragorn, bearing it none will doubt you are truly the heir of Isildur."

"I may have to see this Valyrian steel for myself someday," Gimli said, "if it is even mildly comparable to Telchar's work it deserves to be seen by dwarven eyes."

"I doubt he'd part with it," Clegane said, "Valyrian steel was rare enough in Westeros, and in Middle Earth Jaime Lannister might carry the last piece of it in the world."

"A shame then. A smith's work should be judged by his peers," Gimli replied, "if these Valyrians had a voice it would cry out to have their steel taken to Erebor for comparison and judgment,"

"Good luck convincing Jaime Lannister to part with a treasure like that on those grounds," Clegane said with some amusement, "I'm sure he'll let you look at it but taking something from a Lannister always results in bloodshed."

"We've enough quarrels without starting a new one over a sword," Gandalf said, walking out of Rivendell towards them. To Sandor's surprise the wizard was leading Stranger by the reins out towards them.

"Be careful Wizard," he said, "that horse has been known bite fingers off stableboys…"

"Stranger is friendly enough to those who understand his nature," Gandalf replied, stroking the black horse's mane. "I have allowed my own mount to depart to his own business, but yours will not easily stay in Rivendell I think."

"No he won't," Clegane said, moving to Stranger's side, "but he's not a pack horse, and it would be an insult to treat him as one."

"He will serve as all must," Gandalf said, "and I believe he understands that."

"He's only a horse," Clegane said, "he won't do a job I haven't trained him for, trying to make him will just upset him."

"Is he only a horse?" Gandalf asked, "All peoples and beasts will choose sides in the coming struggle, Stranger has chosen his."

Before Clegane could respond the four hobbits appeared behind the Wizard, each with a pack on their backs and a walking stick in hand. Sam carried the knife he'd taken from the Barrow Downs, Frodo had his uncle's sword Sting, and Merry and Pippin had taken short swords from the armory in Rivendell and tucked them into their belts. After them Elrond walked to the gates, looking serene as always. The old hobbit Bilbo baggins was with him as well, a small smile on his face.

Clegane raised an eyebrow when he saw Sam the hobbit leading one of the ponies Merry and Pippin had taken from Farmer Maggot, "We've got Stranger Sam, do we need another beast of burden?"

"Bill's more than just a pony Ser Clegane," Sam exclaimed, "he's been with us since the Shire, why he can almost ask to come himself! If we leave him behind he'll be following us of his own accord!"

"You said yourself that Stranger would not serve as a beast of burden," Gandalf said, amused, "perhaps if he has a friend to show him the proper way to act as one he will take the role easier."

"Stranger is no friendlier to other horses than he is to men," Sandor said, "but if you think that it's for the best let the hobbit take his pony."

"We are all here then," Pippin said excitedly, "Let's be off!"

"Now Pippin there is no need to be hasty," Gandalf said, "let our host say a few words before we depart."

"I don't know what I can say that most of you have not already thought of yourselves," Elrond said. "My counsel is this: if any cannot endure this path, do not think less of them. No oath or bond is laid on you to go further than you will."

"Perhaps," Gimli said, "but who can call themselves faithful that abandons the road when it darkens?"

"He has a point," Clegane said, "giving up when things look bad is worse than never going in the first place."

"You do not know yet what you will meet on the road Ser Clegane," Elrond said, meeting his eyes, "Do not vow to walk in the dark when you have not seen nightfall."

 _Do not lecture me elf, I've seen what darkness lies in the hearts of men,_ Clegane thought, but he nodded politely all the same.

"Will you give us any words of comfort Lord Elrond?" Legolas asked hesitantly.

Elrond's stern demeanor vanished and a smile appeared on his face, "May the blessings of the elves and all free people's go with you, may the stars shine ever on your faces!"

"I've nothing as sweet to the ears to say," Bilbo said, "So I'll settle for this, good luck my friends!"

"Farewell then," Gandalf said, nodding at them, "let us begin the journey!"

With that the party set off from Rivendell, he fastened his helm in place for a time, but once they were out of sight he removed it and placed it with Stranger's saddlebags. The weather made for pleasant traveling, though the first leaves had begun to change color to herald the beginning of Autumn the days and nights were still warm and the breeze a pleasant feeling. Gandalf led the party, Aragorn, who seemed to know these lands well, went with him. He and Gimli walked with the hobbits and the horses in the center, and though he and Gimli were both inclined towards grim topics of conversation and dark humor the four hobbits lightened their moods, and even Stranger, almost always skittish around new people, seemed pleased to be in their company.

When nightfall came they easily made camp, among them Faramir and Aragorn searched the woods for game while he and Gimli gathered firewood. A short time later they had gathered together, Aragorn having shot a pair of pigeons and Faramir a rabbit, with a tap of his staff Gandalf ignited the fire. It wasn't long before the hobbits had plucked the birds and skinned the rabbit, and Sam was now roasting them over the fire and preparing a stew.

"So what is our path to be then?" Gimli asked as the sun disappeared below the horizon.

"We will make for Minas Tirith," Gandalf said, "it is the easiest road to Mordor and we would do well to know the course of the war. Beyond that… well it is best not to get too far ahead of ourselves."

"Will we go by Rohan?" Faramir asked, "they are friendly enough to Gondor, and they know you there Gandalf."

"The Gap of Rohan is closed to us," the wizard replied, staring into the fire, "a war was starting when I last left there, and by the time we cross it again Saruman's armies will be mobilized. It is too risky for a small company such as ours."

"The Misty Mountains it is then," Gimli said, "Shall we go over or under? I came to Rivendell to seek news of Balin's expedition, if I could complete that task and this quest together I would do so."

"Over," Gandalf said without hesitation, "I have delved the mines of Moria… I count myself lucky to have emerged from them."

"I too have passed those gates, though only once," Aragorn said, "I would prefer not to do so again."

 _If Aragorn and the Wizard fear it…_ He thought of the way Aragorn had easily cut through the orcs in the Shire, of how Gandalf had called fire down on the Barrow Wights…

"I don't know Middle Earth very well," Clegane cut in, "even in _Westeros_ there were places I didn't knowvery well, but if these two say we should stay out of those mines then I'm going to stay out of them."

"Over it is then," Gimli said with a note of disappointment, "which peak would you have us cross?"

"Caradhras, the Redhorn Gate," Gandalf replied.

"That is itself a dangerous path," Gimli warned, "The Redhorn, Barazinbar as it is called by my people, has a will of it's own. Though we built Khazad-Dum beneath it the mountain has always hated dwarves and elves alike."

This was too much for Clegane to believe, "We will see how it tolerates men," he growled. "I'm not about to let a hunk of rock best me."

"You will need such determination," Gandalf said, "the peak would be treacherous in the best of times."

Their conversation was cut off by Sam announcing that the food was ready. They ate and talked for some time after that, but with the sun down and an early morning ahead of them they all turned in early, save for Aragorn and Sam who had agreed to take the first watch. As Sandor lay back and closed his eyes he saw a gold band dancing momentarily in his vision before it disappeared and sleep took him.

 **A/N: And we're back to the Fellowship! Before it comes up I know Bill the Pony wasn't owned by Maggot, but I felt it would be better to let Sam have him as one of the ponies that made it from the Shire, the story just seems to be missing something without old Bill.**

 **Anduril in the books was given to Aragorn before he left Rivendell, in the movies he doesn't get it until Return of the King because Jackson wanted us to see him "grow" into the role. We're tending a little bit more towards book canon so I decided to let Aragorn have it now.**

 **Reviews!**

 **Mr I hate znt nobles kill em - The Westerlands is probably going to become a better place as time goes on, they'll always be the kingdom more willing to make "tough choices" but I don't see Jaime having a Gregor Clegane type on call.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - well we're back to the fellowship, I know everyone wanted to see more of the other characters but I felt the Westerlands chapters would be better off bunched together for the sake of narrative coherence. One of the disadvantages of reading this thing in a "serial" format is that if I leave Eomer on a cliffhanger and then go to Clegane it's going to be a week or more before you figure out what happened to him.**

 **Pyromania101 - What is dead may never- okay yeah he's dead.**

 **Window-Girl - I'm not the best at song lyrics but I felt like I would try one attempt at a "Rains of Castamere" verse in the aftermath of the battle.**

 **Also Red Dead Redeemer noticed I forgot to give Frodo Sting, so I went back and edited things to give it to him. Sorry for the mistake!**


	89. LXXXVI The Queen

**LXXXVI**

 **The Queen**

When news of Joffrey's death had reached her Cersei had gone to her room and refused to leave. Every waking moment was agony, a reminder that even now, in a new world, she hadn't been able to escape Maggy's prophecy. She had never ached for a drink of wine more than then, but Tyrion had refused her any except at meals after speaking with their uncle Kevan.

 _Kevan…_ she thought angrily, her uncle had wished to continue on even after they'd received the news. He'd come to give her some talk about "pressing on," but she'd just stared blankly at him and pretended to listen until he gave up and left her alone again.

After that her cousin Daven had come, he'd grown a long beard since he'd left the Westerlands, "It's a reminder of my duties," he'd explained. "Or it was… I vowed not to shave my face until Joffrey was returned home."

"You failed," she said venomously, "and now Joffrey is dead."

"I did fail," Daven said, "and I'm sorry for it, but the boy was seized by madness Cersei. He took up with orcs and other dark creatures, he-"

She slapped him hard, causing him to flinch back, "You are perhaps entitled to that," Daven growled, "but if you will not see reason-" she tried to run at him then, fists raised, causing him to give a startled cry before fleeing the room quickly.

 _It was a mistake to send him,_ she thought, _He's as weak as his father. Jaime should have gone, Jaime would have…_ she sighed and sat back on the bed. A part of her knew that Daven had spoken the truth, but that only made his words hurt that much more.

There was another knock on the door and she scowled as she prepared herself to deal with what was almost certainly another of Kevan's entreaties, "Enter if you must," she called.

It wasn't her uncle though, she was surprised to see Tyrion walking into the room. She was about to shout at him to leave, but she noticed he was carrying a pitcher of wine in one hand and a pair of cups in the other and hesitated.

"Uncle Kevan says you're not to be allowed to drink to excess," Tyrion said, "but we're in mourning, I think an exception can be made."

"It wasn't Uncle Kevan's decision," she replied, sitting up and taking a cup from him, "it was father's."

"To the seven hells with father then," he replied, tipping the pitcher over her glass. Once they were both served he thought a moment, "Shall we toast to the King then?"

"You never cared for Joffrey," she said, "I won't let you mock his memory."

Tyrion shrugged, "I didn't care for Joffrey, but he was your son and he is dead."

"You never cared for _me_ either," she spat.

"Perhaps not," he said with a frown, "but I'm here with wine and a sympathetic ear, if you have someone else you'd rather talk to let me know and I'll send them, but until then you have me."

"To Joffrey then," she said bitterly, lifting her glass and taking a long drink, savoring the sharp flavor of the strong wine. Tyrion drank with her and when they had both drained their cups he reached for the pitcher again and refilled them.

They sat for a time in silence, sipping at their drinks, "I'd hoped he would be like Jaime," she said suddenly, "he almost looked like him..." _Gold will be their crowns and gold will be their shrouds,_ "It's not just him though..." she sniffed, tears beginning again.

Tyrion seemed confused, "Cersei whatever Joffrey might have been, whatever the circumstances of his birth, Tommen and Myrcella are kind and gentle souls."

"It doesn't matter," she said with resignation, "nothing I do for them will matter, one by one my children will fall into darkness." She looked at him again and her bile returned, "three deaths and three celebrations for the _imp._ "

"Cersei," Tyrion growled, "I do not wish you or your children any harm, quite the opposite in fact-"

"You tried to _kill_ me!" she hissed, "You tried to kill me and Jaime!"

"I… I didn't…," he closed his eyes and sighed, "gods this wasn't how I wanted this conversation to go… Please Cersei let me explain."

She raised an eyebrow, remorse? She hadn't expected that, "Explain then," she said in the most regal tone she could muster under the circumstances.

"I discovered that Jaime had wronged me," Tyrion's face darkened, "When I traveled to Minas Morgul I was shown things he had done, things I had not even suspected on my own. They made me feel a rage, a hate, I'd never felt before."

She'd almost forgotten about Tyrion's journey into Mordor, "Did you see the dark lord himself?" she asked quietly.

"No," Tyrion said, "If it had been him I don't think my mind would have survived." He paused, shuddering, "His chief servant, the Lord of the Nazgul, brought me to the brink of madness well enough on his own." He chuckled suddenly, "Gods you must think he did drive me insane, but Cersei there are things in this world that-"

"I've seen him too," she said quietly, causing his head to snap towards her in surprise, "he rode past me at Osgiliath. He said things he shouldn't have known," anger rose in her voice, "things he knew would torment me, but the worst part was that feeling as he rode by me. It was like…" she found herself at a loss for words, "it was like he'd taken all the light out of the world."

"That sounds like him," Tyrion muttered, "I saw him again at the gates of Edoras not long ago."

"He's in Rohan?" She asked with fright, "Tyrion if he comes for us-"

"He won't," Tyrion said, his hand massaging the empty space where his ring finger used to be, "You and I are insects to a creature like that, amusing to stomp on if the mood strikes him and he has the time, but other business will always take him away from us."

"What business could bring him here?" she asked, "what would a creature like that want with this backwater?"

He frowned, "Cersei I would avoid calling Rohan a "backwater" while you are here. As to the lord of the Nazgul's mission… I have my suspicions, but if they are true _that_ is a secret I need to keep for now, even from you."

"Keep it then," she said irritably, holding out her cup for a refill.

"The Rohirrim don't have a lot of good wines," he said as he poured her another glass, "they're a people who prefer beers and meads… I decided to open up a barrel from Gondor. It's good isn't it?"

"After so long on the road with Uncle Kevan I'd settle for some grog from Flea Bottom… but yes it is good," she replied, holding her cup towards him.

"I know the feeling," Tyrion said, obliging her and pouring another glass, "I'm trying to manage a kingdom, a war, and the personal disputes of every farmer who thinks the grain merchant is trying to cheat him. I've been sober for nearly two days now."

"Dreadful," she said in a mocking tone.

"That's not the worst of it," he said, "Father has written me a number of letters demanding I do this or that, it's almost like he doesn't understand that I left Minas Tirith to get _away_ from him!"

She giggled to herself at that, and in spite of her attempts to hold it back laughter soon bubbled forth. A moment later Tyrion joined her. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was that she'd spent far too long alone in her room, maybe it was that her father hadn't been particularly kind to her of late, but she laughed. After a moment the laughter petered out and she was left in silence with Tyrion again. She felt a curious emotion towards her brother then, it took her a moment to realize she was actually enjoying his company.

"Uncle Kevan is right," she said quietly, "It's time for me to go on with him."

"I'm sure he'll be glad to hear it," Tyrion replied. He tilted his head a moment, seemingly staring off into space, "this is a new world, I think that whatever's ahead for us will be better than what we left behind…"

Before she had a chance to ask him what he meant by that there was a knock on the door, "Enter," Tyrion said with a sigh.

It was Daven again, he eyed Cersei warily before speaking, "Lady Eowyn's retinue has returned."

"Victorious I hope?" Tyrion asked.

"The outriders say they met the Wizard's forces near Grimslade," Daven replied, "they held them there for two days while the people of that land fled East."

"But they were forced to abandon it were they?" Tyrion asked bitterly.

"They were," Daven said quietly, "the enemy was said to be too numerous, too determined."

"Damn everything," Tyrion muttered, "They'll overrun the Westfold and push towards Edoras." He looked to Cersei suddenly, "you and Uncle Kevan will need to leave by tomorrow morning at the latest, I fear Rohan will not be safe for travelers much longer."

He got up to follow Daven out and Cersei did the same. The three of them exited through the throne room onto the steps of Medusheld, Cersei gasped as she looked out on the hills around Edoras to see a camp of thousands of tents outside the walls, horses and men moving amongst them.

"These Rohirrim marshal quickly don't they?" Daven commented, "it would take two weeks for your father to gather a force this size, this lot is here and already encamped in less than one."

"Without Grima's influence in the court it was easy enough to call king Theoden's banners," Tyrion said, "word of Lady Eowyn's victories erased any doubts they might have had about following her."

Cersei felt a tinge of envy towards the lady of Rohan again. A moment later a column of horsemen were riding up the center street of Edoras towards the hall, the gate opened to admit them and the first of the riders dismounted and walked towards Tyrion. As the figure pulled the helmet off Cersei was shocked to see long blonde hair and a young female face.

"Lady Eowyn," Tyrion said, bowing slightly. Daven did the same, and after a moment Cersei did too. She was suddenly conscious of her short shorn hair, her wrinkles, her mannish clothing…

"And who is this?" Eowyn asked, gesturing in her direction.

"This is my sister Cersei," Tyrion replied.

Eowyn nodded, "Ah yes," she extended a hand in greeting, as a man would. Gingerly Cersei took it and the two shook, "I'm pleased to meet you lady Cersei, any kith and kin of Tyrion's will always welcome in our halls." She paused a moment, "I mean no disrespect, but I had thought you and your uncle Kevan would have left for Lothlorien by now."

Before she could say anything Tyrion cut her off, "They were delayed," he said simply, "but they will leave early tomorrow morning."

"One final meal before we all leave Edoras again," Eowyn said, a brief smile, "I'm pleased to see my Uncle's men answered the call." She frowned a moment, "how is he? Is there any improvement?"

"The color has returned to the King's cheeks," Tyrion said, "he eats and drinks unassisted, but there is still something wrong with him. The maester says that his body is growing stronger, but there is some fog over his mind that no herb or poultice will reach. He still seems lethargic, and he doesn't recognize anyone."

She sighed, "That's better than I'd hoped… what other news is there?"

"The goblins which slew Theodred have been vanquished by my brother Jaime in the Westerlands," Tyrion replied with a smile, "He will soon march against Isengard with twenty thousand men!"

Cersei was shocked to see an excited, almost predatory expression come over the other woman's face, "Good," Eowyn nearly growled, "I tire of these skirmishes and retreats, of having to see my people's homes and lands burned so they might buy themselves time to flee. I want a true battle, a conclusion to this."

"If only it were that easy," Daven muttered.

"There will be time to discuss strategy and tactics later," Tyrion said, "Come, let's retire."

The four of them walked back inside Medusheld, Cersei hung back a moment, watching Eowyn. The woman had dirt and grime on her, and though the armor looked as though it had been cleaned there were still small reddish-brown stains on the edges that Cersei knew weren't rust. Eowyn seemed to notice her glance and held back as well, letting Tyrion and Daven continue on.

"Is something wrong lady Cersei?"

The words startled her out of her thoughts, "Women who fight battles are rare in Westeros," she said.

"The women of Rohan learned long ago that those without swords can still die by them," Eowyn said simply, "I fear neither death nor battle."

"Nor does our dear Cersei," She hadn't heard her uncle Kevan approach, but there he was, walking towards them. "She fought at my side during the battle of Osgiliath, when we retook the bridgehead!" He looked Eowyn over a moment and then dipped his head, "Princess Eowyn I presume?"

"I am she," Eowyn said, "And you must be Kevan Lannister." Seeing his nod she turned back to Cersei, "Is it true?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, "did you fight at the battle of Osgiliath?"

"I lead the men to the bridge but I did little of the fighting," Cersei said uncertainly.

"You killed at least one orc that I saw," Kevan said.

 _Luck,_ she thought to herself, _a chance strike,_ but seeing Eowyn's glance she sighed, "He speaks the truth, I did kill one of the creatures."

"Then you've done more than many," Eowyn said nodding with approval, "and you had the courage to stand where others would have fled. You were brave, you did your duty."

"Thank you," Cersei said quietly, and she meant it too. Somehow those words from the princess of Rohan meant more to her than a lifetime of empty praise from court sycophants.

"You needn't thank me," Eowyn said, "It's only the truth." She suddenly looked down at herself, "I'm going to get out of this armor. I will see both of you tonight at dinner."

"Until then Lady Eowyn," Kevan replied politely as she left. When she'd gone he turned back to Cersei, "I'm glad to see you're up and about, Tyrion tells me you're prepared to leave?"

"I am," she said with determination.

Noticing her look Kevan laughed, "You look a lot like I did after the first time I met Prince Rhaeger. She's an impressive woman, Princess Eowyn."

Later a series of tables had been brought into Medusheld. Old king Theoden had been placed in a chair at the front of the room, he did look better, his movements didn't seem pained, and he even managed to raise his cup when a server went by, but there was no recognition in his eyes when he saw her or anyone else.

She and Kevan sat with Tyrion, they were joined by a rough looking man in brown clothing that she recognized as a sellsword Tyrion had hired as a bodyguard.

"Should he be up here with the noblemen?" Kevan asked uncertainly, "I don't want to insult our hosts…"

"I invited Bronn myself," Eowyn said, sitting down alongside them. She'd changed into a dress, her long hung over her shoulders beneath a simple copper circlet. "If he's fit to ride alongside me in battle I think he's fit to sit with me at a table."

Kevan shrugged, "It's your hall…"

They were also joined by Ser Lyle Crakehall, a boorish knight who reminded her of Robert, and a friend of his who seemed equally brutish.

As the food was served to the assembled she overheard Crakehall talking to Daven, "They're disciplined and they're strong," Lyle said, "but there's something missing… there's no _character_ , a man says he slew this orc, or that orc, and what does it matter? Knights carry banners for a reason, you can't build a reputation for yourself if you've only fought a bunch of nobodies!"

She rolled her eyes and turned to her other side where Tyrion was sitting, "what escort will you send with us?" she asked. Some distant part of her hoped he'd be sending something close to a servant, but another, more realistic, part of her knew it was unlikely.

"I can spare you only a merchant and his son who sometimes go that way to trade with the elves," Tyrion said, "We will need every man for the war to come. The wizard will know Jaime is coming, and he will throw all of his might against us in the hope that he might conquer Rohan before our brother arrives."

"Jaime will come," she said, a hint of sadness in her voice.

"I hope he does," Eowyn said quietly as she began cutting her meat. "Tell me about Ser Jaime Tyrion… If I recall it was a quarrel of sorts between you that led to your arrival in Rohan in the first place."

Tyrion tensed, "Lady Eowyn we have come far together… but Jaime and I have a quarrel of our own, and our own it will remain."

"Can he be relied on in our hour of need?" Eowyn asked.

"Yes," Cersei interrupted, "he is the greatest swordsman the world has ever known. A hero out of story and song."

"The greatest?" Eowyn asked, "A rival of Turin Turambar himself then?"

Cersei almost choked on a bit of bread in her throat, for she had come across the tale of Turin Turambar in her reading, but after a moment of coughing she composed herself.

"Yes," she said, "He certainly is Turin's rival."

The rest of the night passed pleasantly enough, she savored the wine she'd been denied so long, but remembering that she would have to rise early the next morning she begrudgingly turned the cupbearers away as the evening progressed.

She slept soundly, her dreams were pleasant though she remembered little of them save for the smells… As her Uncle Kevan shook her awake her mother's perfume lingered.

"It's time to be off Cersei," he said in a low voice, "our guides are waiting for us out front." She'd slept in her traveling clothes, the now familiar closeness of the leather breeches a comfort rather than an annoyance. As they exited Medusheld she saw that Kevan was wrong, in addition to the two men chosen as their guides there was another, smaller, figure outlined against the rising sun.

"Sister," Tyrion greeted her, stepping forward.

"Little brother," she said hesitantly, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"It seemed uncouth to trouble the feast with business," Tyrion said, "but when you pass North I have a few requests."

"Name them and they are yours Tyrion," Kevan said.

 _Secrets,_ she thought, _things he doesn't want even the Princess to know…_

"I sent a man bearing a very important parcel in that direction some time ago," he said, "these two," he gestured at the pair chosen to accompany them, "will return here after seeing you to Lothlorien. I must know if he made it at least that far. Also there is this," he withdrew an envelope, sealed in wax, and handed it to Kevan. "A letter to the lord and lady of the wood."

"Might I ask what it says?" Cersei said.

"It's a plea for help," Tyrion replied. He smiled a little, "Everyone is asking everyone for help these days, I saw no harm in adding my voice to the chorus."

Kevan chuckled, "I suppose there's not. Goodbye Tyrion." He walked down to the two men and stepped into the stirrup of one of the provided horses.

"Cersei," Tyrion called, causing her to pause a moment, "if you meet a man named Gandalf in your travels… tell him he has my thanks."

"For what?" She asked as she climbed onto her own mount.

"For everything," Tyrion shouted as the horses galloped out of Edoras.

 **A/N: And here we are with Cersei once more**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Glad you're enjoying him.**

 **Jackalope89 - The Ents will show up in time. We're going to be bouncing back and forth a bit between Rohan and the Fellowship.**

 **Pyromania101 - The ring has been working on Sandor awhile, if you recall it reached out to him as early as the Shire.**


	90. LXXXVII The Hound

**LXXXVII**

 **The Hound**

They were far out from Rivendell now, and as they drew nearer to the mountains the temperature dropped and at night they felt the first chill of autumn. They awoke one morning to see the light shining on one mountain, bathing it in a blood red color.

"So we're to see two mountains of fire then," Pippin said as the party took a moment to view the spectacle.

"It's no fire," Gimli barked, "the mountain has bathed in the blood of many who sought to climb it."

"I'm more comfortable with blood than fire anyways," Clegane growled," let's press on."

As they neared the summit of the mountain Faramir advised that they should stop to collect firewood, "it is warm enough down here," he said, "but on peaks like this snowstorms can strike year round." They'd loaded a number of small chopped logs onto Bill and Stranger who, true to Gandalf's words, seemed to bear the burden gracefully.

"What's gotten into you?" Clegane muttered to his horse as he tied one of the bundles of logs. Stranger only snorted in response.

It was a short time after that when Aragorn and Gandalf stopped, "There's something wrong," Aragorn said to the Wizard, "No people of any race dwell here, but it is too quiet… there should be beasts and birds calling." Clegane listened a moment and realized that aside from their voices he heard nothing. He looked around slowly, hoping to spot a bird, a squirrel, anything.

"Aragorn," Legolas said suddenly, "look there!" they all turned to where the elf was pointing in the sky, but to Clegane there appeared to be nothing but a wisp of cloud. Remembering the flying orcs that had come for them on the road to Rivendell his hand went to his sword.

"It's not _them…_ ," Aragorn said, seeing his motion, "It looks like a flock of crebain, from Dunland."

"Spies of Saruman," Gandalf said bitterly, "we need to find a place to hide."

"The _birds_ act as his spies?" Clegane asked uncertainly.

"Your own people use them as messengers," Gandalf replied, looking about, "With all you have seen Clegane is it really so impossible? There!" the Wizard said, pointing to a thick copse of trees, "We'll hide in there until they pass!" Gandalf lead the horses into the undergrowth as the rest of them pressed against the trees. Once the flock of crows had moved over they continued on quietly, the tension in the air rising now that the enemy's presence had been felt.

They began walking up the slope of the mountain, and while things were still green the air was beginning to thin and chill. After a few more hours the hobbits decided to grab cloaks off the pony's back and drape them around themselves. It when the sun drew low in the sky that their footsteps crunched onto the first of the shallow white snow that covered the higher parts of Caradhras.

"It doesn't seem so bad here," Pippin said, "Almost peaceful, what was all that talk about the mountain being full of hate?"

"The air will grow colder as we draw higher master Took," Gandalf replied, "the wind stronger…"

It was not long after he said it that the wind picked up, it almost seemed as though something _had_ noticed them, and the wind hit their faces as though they were being consciously struck each time the howling sound came over the next ridge.

"We'll make camp there," Gandalf said, pointing to an outcropping of rocks that would block most of the wind.

"I'll get a fire going," Sam started, but Gandalf shook his head.

"No, we cannot risk being seen," Gandalf muttered, "Shelter yourselves from the wind and cold as much as you can. We will continue up the mountain at first light."

Clegane slept fitfully, each time he felt as though he would slip into a truly deep sleep the wind would rush down the mountain, screaming against the rocks. After the third time it happened he nearly screamed back, but stopped when he saw the forms of his sleeping companions. Suddenly he felt someone shake his shoulder.

He turned to see it was the elf, Legolas, "Aragorn and Gimli have gone to sleep," he said, "it's our turn to take watch."

He sighed and stood up, "I suppose I'll get plenty of sleep when I'm dead," he grumbled quietly as the two of them walked to the edge of the outcropping.

The rock face they had chosen to make their camp behind was near to where the trees stopped growing on the mountainside, and though it was dark the brush was thin enough that it would be difficult to approach them without giving the party warning. The two of them sat in silence for a time, he was wondering what they would have for breakfast when Legolas startled him by speaking.

"Aragorn tells me that in the land you came from, in the land your kingdom came from I should say, there were no elves, nor dwarves, only men."

"He spoke the truth," Clegane replied. He thought a moment, "there are stories about a race called the Children of the Forest, they dwelt in the woods and were said to be immortal."

This intrigued Legolas, "Perhaps they were a race of elves once, taken from this world as you were taken from your own. What were they like?"

"I don't know anything more, they were stories for children," he said bitterly, "and I had a short childhood."

"Not entirely forgotten at least," Legolas said looking around, "There were elves in this land once, though my own people didn't know them… now only the stones remember them and wail at their absence."

"If I had any wine we could toast to the rocks and their dead friends," Clegane said, "but I'm afraid I have none."

The elf frowned, "I do not know if you are mocking me Ser Clegane, but-"

"If you say the rocks remember them then I believe you," he said. A smile came over his face, "I've seen too many things that shouldn't exist already. I think I'm going to stop questioning them."

Now Legolas smiled, "Be careful in that, lest you be made someone's fool." The elf's hand went inside his tunic for a moment and he withdrew a small flask, no bigger than a man's hand. "If you'd like to drink to the stones and their memories I suppose I might provide something to help you towards that end."

Clegane grinned, "To the rocks then!" Legolas laughed a little before unscrewing the cap and taking a quick drink and passing it over to him. He was about to take a long swig but looking at the elf prince he thought better of it and took only a brief gulp, savoring the fruity taste. "Strong," he remarked, "but flavorful… that's a hell of a wine Legolas."

Legolas took the flask back and tucked it inside his shirt again, "My father only buys the finest of Lake Town's wines. I took a small amount to remind me of home on the journey."

"I wouldn't mind some of the Westerland's finest right about now," he said as the sun peeked over the mountaintop, "to warm me though," _not to remind me of them._ He frowned a moment as the light slowly spread over the trees, he could swear he saw movement.

Legolas saw the look and glanced in the direction he was staring, "We've been found!" he whispered suddenly. Clegane stood up and moved his hand towards his sword, "No," Legolas whispered sharply, "Act as though you are calm and haven't seen them." Legolas stood up slowly and sauntered back towards the camp, "I'm going to wake everyone."

"What the hell should I do then?" he asked with a forced smile.

"Pretend I'm going to relieve myself!" Legolas whispered as he moved towards the outcropping where the others slept.

He looked back at the trees, now bathed in the red-orange light of the sunrise. He caught the slightest hints of movement again and forced himself to look ahead. In the corner of his eye he saw one of them. It was a man, clothed all in white furs, hunkered low to the ground. _I see you,_ he thought, _go ahead, make a move…_ but rather than a sword to his dismay he saw the figure slowly draw a small bow, _Legolas wake the others…_ he thought anxiously. The man was drawing back an arrow now, _Gods damn it…_

He ducked just as the arrow flew, "Legolas!" he shouted, as it whizzed over his head, "They're coming!"

Without looking back he stumbled to his feet and ran towards the camp, he heard a few other arrows thudding into the ground where he had stood just a moment ago, but he didn't turn back to look. By the time he reached the outcropping the others were awake.

"Is it orcs?" Gandalf cried, unsheathing his sword.

"Men!" Clegane responded, "Clothed in white!"

"They seek to blend in with the snow!" Faramir said, readying his bow.

"If we run we can lose them!" Aragorn called, pointing towards the summit of Caradhras, "look!" he pointed towards a number of clouds that were now gathering on the slopes.

"The mountain!" Gimli cried fearfully, "it is awake!"

"And it hates all that climb upon it," Gandalf said in a low voice, "But against those that pursue us I would judge our will to be stronger! Let us lead them into the storm!"

The party ran up the slope of Caradhras, there was a battle cry that rose up behind them in some foreign tongue and without looking back Clegane knew that at least fifty men pursued them. The wind whipped at them, and as they drew higher towards the pass snow began to fall. It wasn't long before the snowflakes grew thick enough to obscure vision even a few dozen yards ahead.

"They still pursue us!" Legolas called from behind them. There was a sudden rumble and they all looked up to see a wave of snow crashing down the mountain. The avalanche seemed to trace a path directly towards them, but just as Clegane braced himself for the impact it seemed to divert it's path and the snow crashed into the pass they'd hoped to flee through.

"Hang it all!" Faramir shouted angrily.

"Fight it is then," Clegane muttered, "Hobbits!" he shouted as he drew his sword, "get behind us!" No sooner had he said it than a silhouette appeared out of the blizzard. The man was clothed in white furs as he'd seen earlier, with a pair of stone axes in hand. As the first attacker came fully into view he could see the resolve in the man's eyes waver as he took in Clegane's form. The combination of his size and the grisly scars on his face caused the man to hesitate, Clegane did not. His sword parted the man's face from ear to ear.

"Help!" Merry screamed suddenly. He turned to see the four hobbits had tackled one of the men that had snuck by the rest of the Fellowship, and though he was screaming for assistance Merry was plunging his dagger into the man's chest.

He took another look around, Gimli, Legolas, and Faramir had all moved closer to the hobbits after Merry's shout and he did too, the four of them forming a barrier between them and the oncoming force. The wind picked up again and the snowfall grew so thick that he couldn't see more than ten paces in front of him. The next wave of attackers slowly appeared before him, this time there were three, and the center one, who he presumed to be the leader, was at least as tall as he was if not taller.

" _Garthocka!"_ the big one screamed, and the battle cry drove the other two forward. One staggered suddenly as an arrow impacted his side, another arrow struck his head and he dropped. _The elf!_ Clegane thought frantically, _How in the hells can he see in this?_

He let out a roar himself as he felt his rage and bloodlust build to a fever pitch. The two remaining men came at him, he raised his sword diagonally across his chest to block their strikes just as the smaller of the two men slammed a wooden club into his blade, embedding it deeply into his steel. The two struggled to separate their weapons a moment, and as he saw the bigger man coming he let go of the sword and slammed a mailed fist into the attacker's forehead, causing him to collapse limply to the ground, carrying the club and the sword with him.

" _Rok Narock,"_ he turned to see the biggest of the three standing with a spear at the ready, a savage grin on his face. He stood and twirled the weapon, showing off his balance.

 _A fucking braggart off this one,_ Clegane thought, _he's had a dozen chances to kill me already…_ with his sword on the ground he decided to humor the other man a moment. He held his arms wide in challenge and stepped back a bit, hoping the snow would obscure him at least a little.

"Come on you fucking cunt!" he shouted with a smile, "make your move!"

Just as the target of his insults was about to lunge forward he screamed suddenly, doubling back. Behind him Clegane saw a small figure, not quite as small as a hobbit, but still shorter than a man.

 _Gimli!_ He thought triumphantly. He dove forward at the other man then, grasping his throat as the two of them fell to the ground. Their eyes locked as he came out on top, and as the other man's eye's bulged he could see a frantic movement in the corner of his eyes. _The spear,_ he thought, _he's trying to get his spear._ A savage grin came over his face as he released his grip over the man's neck and plunged his thumbs into his eye sockets. There was a scream as a he pressed down and then a sick crunch as he cracked the skull.

He stood up and rolled his shoulders before stooping to pick up his sword from the snow, "Clegane!" he heard Gimli call, "to me!" He saw that two men had surrounded the dwarf, but before he could move to help he saw another small figure dart forward and stab at the back of one of Gimli's assailants.

 _One of the hobbits,_ he thought as he moved closer, _not half bad fighters when you finally push them to action…_ He blocked an axe blow that was about to fall on Gimli and pulled the man backwards before stabbing him through the chest.

There was another rumbling sound from above and he looked up with dismay to see another wave of rocks and snow crashing down the mountain towards them. Suddenly there were words upon the air, he heard Gandalf's voice, deep and powerful, and the rocks above shifted in their path slightly.

"Against the mountain!" Gimli cried, "Hug the cliff face or we will be crushed!"

He saw the cliff the dwarf spoke of and as he ran he reached out and grabbed the hobbit that had come to Gimli's aid, lifting him bodily and tucking him under his arm, he saw then that it was Frodo, the Ringbearer himself. The pair of them slammed into the mountainside as the first of the rocks tumbled overhead. Looking around he could see the rest of the party had made it except…

"Gandalf!" Frodo cried, "where is Gandalf?!"

"He is casting a spell!" shouted Aragorn, "do not go to him!"

The roaring of the rockslide continued overhead for a few moments before abruptly silencing. They all watched the swirling snows for a few tense moments before the shape of a wide brimmed hat appeared, followed by the rest of Gandalf's figure.

"The foe has either fled or been slain," Gandalf said in a tired voice, "The mountain awoke and sent stones down upon us, but I was able to force them towards our pursuers." He sighed, "I have told anyone with the power to see it that I have been here, our path is easily traced now."

"It seems it was already," Legolas remarked, "who were those men?"

"Dunlendings," Aragorn said, "a group chosen specifically to hunt us in this place."

"How do you know that?" Pippin asked.

"The language they spoke," Aragorn replied, "There were many clans present. White furs like that are rare, to have dozens of men clothed as such… only Saruman could have organized them so."

"They seemed more like hunters than soldiers to me," Clegane said, "they tracked us well enough, but they made too many mistakes when they attacked us."

"You're probably right," Aragorn said, "These men were likely scouts and fur trappers, but it doesn't matter now. If there are more in these hills they have been alerted, they will know we seek to travel up the mountain."

"Is it wise to continue on then?" Gimli asked, "with the mountain roused and our foe close at hand? There is another path available to us…"

"Moria you mean," Legolas said over the rising wind, "the black pit…"

Gandalf was quiet a moment, "Frodo," he said suddenly, "You are the Ringbearer, shall we try to pass over this mountain or under it, through the mines of Moria?"

The wind whipped around them again, sending wavy lines of snow on the ground before them, "Moria," Frodo called as the snowflakes grew larger, "we'll pass under!"

"So be it," Gandalf muttered. "Set a fire then," he shouted suddenly, "there is no more hiding our presence now, and we will soon be hidden again in any case!"

 _Moria,_ Clegane thought as he walked towards Stranger to fetch the wood from his pack. He thought over the things Aragorn and Gandalf had said about it earlier, but then scowled inwardly, _if it gets us out of the snow_ _fine then, whatever lies underneath Middle Earth cannot be any more frightening than what I've seen on it's surface…_

 **A/N: The mountain of Caradhras in the books is portrayed as almost "self aware" and working against the Fellowship, not so much because of Sauron or Saruman's actions but just because it's possessed by a spirit that hates dwarves and elves. I've gone with something near to that interpretation here.**

 **Pyromania101 - I don't know if I've said it before on this site but Eowyn is almost everything Cersei wanted to be when she grew up, meeting someone like that would have a profound impact on her I think.**

 **Cyricist001 - Well I've got four sites I'm uploading on so I get enough attention to feed my ego, still don't hesitate to favorite and comment :)**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Cersei and Tyrion almost have several breakthroughs in canon, I decided to let them have that final push towards some sort of reconciliation here, even if they'll probably never be best friends.**

 **Azula - Thanks!**

 **Sasswott2000 - They'll hear about Jaime's decision at some point, don't worry.**

 **Karinfan123 - wow, that's quite a review! The Westerlands will probably always be the "ruthless" kingdom of men, but without the normal scheming of Westerosi politics you're right in that they've let their more noble instincts come to the forefront. Let me see if I can't answer some of those questions.**

 **1\. If Eowyn ended up being the last of the house of Eorl and decided to claim the throne there are few who would oppose it, and even if they did she's got Tyrion and whatever Lannisters he can convince to join in at her back. In most medieval societies an upstart claim like that would need to be backed by victories on the battlefield, fame, and numbers, all of which she'd have in spades.**

 **2\. There's going to be a lot of people moving into Eriador and Enedwaith after the war's over, but even with the influx of Westerosi peasants and hedge knights there's still a number of Dunedain settlements that will probably want to reunite with Gondor. It'll be a touchy political subject for years to come.**

 **3\. Damn shipping wars ;) Well in regards to either possibility Eowyn after the events of the War of the Ring isn't going to let anyone in Casterly Rock boss her around, and Jaime's never been able to say no to the women in his life anyway, be it Cersei, Brienne, or any of the various fanfic pairings he's had over the years. If he ended up with the princess of Dol Amroth that would tie the Westerlands to their nearest major hold in Gondor, she's not much more than a name in canon so her characterization can go a bunch of different ways... then again we've already had Cerenna grow from "just a name in canon" so it wouldn't be totally unprecedented.**

 **Cruailsama - Thanks! I think a perfect crossover should blend the worlds as much as just have the characters interact, I'm glad you see it the same way.**


	91. LXXXVIII The Queen

**LXXXVIII**

 **The Queen**

While Cersei had initially felt a renewed sense of purpose upon leaving Edoras a sense of boredom and restlessness had set in after the second day of crossing featureless prairie. She felt her mind going back to the Westerlands, Joffrey, Jaime… she sighed sadly.

"Thinking about what could have been done differently?" Kevan asked, riding alongside her. He glanced ahead a moment to check that their guides were too far ahead to hear them if they kept their voices low. "When I heard that Lancel had…" He blinked a moment, and Cersei was shocked to see a tear, "gods I remember the day he was born… You must remember the first time you held Joffrey?"

"I do…" she said quietly. "Lancel at least left the world with honor…"

Kevan chuckled grimly, "Yes, and I thank the gods that he found his senses at the end, I worried that Tywin would… well it doesn't matter now."

She frowned, "You are father's favorite brother and only friend. Surely he would have been lenient on Lancel?"

"Aerys was his friend once," Kevan said, "and you know how that ended. We are brothers, and close true, but Tywin would have no man at his back while he ordered the death of that man's son… or did you think it was coincidence that I was chosen to accompany you on this mission?"

"So you are being punished too?" she asked.

"Maybe from a certain point of view," Kevan replied, "but I believe that Tywin simply wanted me away if the question of what to do about Lancel were to arise." Seeing her look he scowled, "he made the right decision."

She was about to make a comment on how her Uncle was more loyal to family name than to family, but she thought better of it.

After another few days of travel they finally crossed the Entwash and entered into a sparse area of land known as the Wold. Their guides seemed more on alert then, almost nervous. When night came the man who lead them, Fulgar, said that they would sleep in shifts, but they saw nothing as they crossed the land, friend or foe.

One day they passed a large herd of cattle. There were hundreds of them, but as they approached a small party of men drove the cows out of their path, fleetingly Cersei noticed that the cows looked large and healthy, but soon they were too far away to observe any individual animals.

"Are all men of the Wold so standoffish?" Kevan asked.

"They are not overly fond of strangers," Fulgar replied, "they're a grim and serious sort. Do not mistake it for ill will, I am certain if we appeared to be hurt or in distress they would come to help us."

"It still seems rude to me," Cersei commented, "who holds these lands? What lord would let his subjects act in such a manner?"

"The Wold holds loyalty only to Edoras," Fulgar said, "there is no lord or baron of these lands, only those men who still remain here with their herds. Most fled long ago when orcs began raiding these lands, and even orcs are seldom seen here anymore." They did not see anyone else as they traveled through the empty lands, even animals became rare. The only landmark they encountered was a small river, the Limlight, which was shallow enough that the horses were able to wade through it. It wasn't long after that the first of the trees appeared.

"We stop here," Fulgar said, holding up a hand, "We will make a camp and wait for the elves to come to us."

Cersei frowned, "this is no golden wood. These trees seem no different from any I've seen anywhere else."

Fulgar laughed, "I have never been to the heart of the forest where the lord and lady sit. The Galadhrim are a secretive people, truth be told my son and I had wondered what you would say to them that would allow you to gain entrance to their halls."

"We are emissaries though," Kevan said uncertainly, "surely they would not refuse to at least meet with us?"

Fulgar shrugged, "their whims are their own. Come, let us start a fire. If their sentries see the smoke they will come to us all the sooner." They followed his lead, Fulgar and his son gathered firewood and piled it within a ring of stones they'd made. Cersei moved forward with a piece of flint and stone, which she had become accustomed to using now, and with a single quick sure strike a large spark soon grew into a small flame. Kevan smiled at that a moment before pulling his pack off his horse, setting it down he began rummaging through it.

"What are you looking for?" she asked, stirring the fire with a long stick before standing up and moving over to him.

"Our papers," he replied, "and our gold… a few dragons finding their way into the right hands might help get us an audience with the elven lords."

Cersei almost laughed, "they are _elves_ Uncle, they will not bring you before Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel for a few coppers."

"Working men, elves rather, are the same almost anywhere in my experience," Kevan said as he pulled out a coin purse, "speaking of which… Fulgar!" he called, causing the man's head to snap up. He walked over and placed a pair of gold coins in the man's hand, "for you and your son."

"This isn't necessary," Fulgar protested, "this is an errand on behalf of Lady Eowyn, you need not-"

"Take it or throw it away if it pleases you, but I will not take it back," Kevan replied. Cersei raised an eyebrow at him and he rolled his eyes, "A man must satisfy his honor even if he wants to take another man's coin Cersei."

"If you say so Uncle," she said mildly as she walked towards the edge of camp.

"Where are you going?" Kevan asked, "We're going to cook dinner soon!"

"I'm just taking a walk," she said. She walked further towards the treeline, " _Golden Wood,"_ she thought, _another lie in a lifetime of lies…_ would the elves be another disappointment? _It wouldn't be the first…_

"Stop," a voice called out from somewhere. She froze, "raise your hands." Hesitantly she did so. A figure appeared suddenly and she gasped. He was handsome, with pointed ears and flowing blond hair down to his shoulders. He held a bow in hand, a pair of others appeared behind him, arrows at the ready.

"What business?" he said hesitantly.

 _He knows the common tongue,_ she thought, "Fulgarth," she said quickly, "I am with Fulgarth."

The elf raised an eyebrow, "Fulgarth is our friend. Are you a friend of Fulgarth?"

She nodded eagerly and pointed towards the campfire, "He is there," she pointed to herself, "I am Cersei, Cersei Lannister."

"Cersei Lannister," the elf repeated slowly. He pointed to himself, "I am Amras," he said, "I watch Lorien's southern borders."

"Fulgarth is this way," she said, pointing towards the fire. The elf nodded and stepped towards her.

"Walk in front," he said, and slowly she marched in front of them back towards where her uncle and the two men from Rohan were working the fire. "Do not call to them, I will do it." Obeying his orders she kept quiet until they were close to the fire. "Fulgar!" the elf leader shouted, "It is Amras!"

 _"Mae l'ovannen!"_ Fulgarth shouted back as he stood up.

" _Quetuvangwë sí ve nildu?"_ Amran said as they walked closer behind Cersei.

Fulgarth chuckled, "What is it?" Cersei asked.

"I believe he worries you are bandits that have waylaid me somehow," Fulgarth replied. He shouted a few words in the foreign language back at Amran and the elves relaxed, easing their hands off their weapons and walking towards the fire.

Kevan stood up and puffed his chest out, "I am Kevan Lannister, brother of Tywin Lannister, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands," he said. He held a number of sealed letters forward and Amran took them hesitantly. He opened one and stared at it a moment.

"I do not read Westron well," he said, "Fulgarth, do they speak truth?"

Fulgarth responded with another round of conversation in Elvish, "They've heard of The Arrival," Fulgarth said, "though you are the first people of the Westerlands to reach them. They greet you in the name of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel."

"A step in the right direction at least," Kevan muttered, "Will they take us to their lords?"

"They ask for further proof of your identity," Fulgarth replied, "they cannot read the letters."

Kevan sighed and slowly reached into his travel sack. He withdrew a shining silver necklace with a ruby pendant, somehow a golden lion had been set in the center, seeming to grow out of the gem itself.

"We offer this as a gift to the lady of the wood," Kevan said, holding it up for the elves to see, "And as proof we are emissaries on behalf of house Lannister."

The elves talked amongst themselves a moment before Amran responded, "We believe you. You will follow us into the wood."

Kevan smiled, "Now we're getting somewhere."

One of the elves behind Amran shouted something and he scowled, "You will need to be blindfolded, we do not know if men from your land can be trusted."

Kevan frowned, "Do the elves treat all friends like this?"

"We do not know if you are friends," Amran replied, "in time perhaps you will be, but the enemy is well known for his tricks."

"We agree to whatever precautions you believe are necessary," Cersei said, "I am Lady Cersei of Casterly Rock, Daughter of Lord Tywin."

Amran met her eyes and nodded, "Good, if you trust us perhaps we will grow to trust you." He held up a pair of dark cloths and she took one, studying it a moment before handing the other to her uncle. She pulled it over her eyes and tied it behind her head. _If this is the only way they will lead me to Lothlorien so be it,_ she thought.

"If that's how it must be then," Kevan growled, "but if that gold or that necklace go missing… a Lannister always pays his debts."

"I don't know if the saying will carry the same weight translated into Sindarin Uncle," she said, closing her eyes in resignation, she couldn't see anything anyways, "I don't think they will steal it in any case."

"We will not," Amran said, "You have my word."

"The word of a Dornishman and a Northman have very different values," Kevan said, "I don't know what a Galadhrim elf's word is worth."

"Uncle Kevan," Cersei said impatiently, "there is only one path forward, stop wasting time." He sighed, from the sound behind her she guessed he was tying the blindfold as well.

"We will give you a rope," Amran said, "though we will not bind you. Hold onto it and we will guide you through the forest."

"Farewell friends," Fulgarth said behind them, "Lord Kevan, Amran, give the lord and lady of the wood my regards!"

"We will do so friend Fulgarth!" Amran called as they moved farther into the forest. After that the elves began to speak in their own language again. She recognized a few words, but without context they were still meaningless. They walked until she could tell from the cool air that sundown was upon them.

"We will sleep in the trees," Amran called, "we have built flets above which we are large enough for all of us to lay upon."

"Treehouses," Kevan said somewhere behind her, "like children..."

There was a sudden light and she blinked as the blindfold was torn off of her by their guide, "Climb," he said simply, pointing to a white ladder leading up into the treetops. Cersei did so and Kevan behind her, they were both exhausted and slept easily on the provided matting. The elves did not ask them to take a shift watching and so they each enjoyed their first full night of sleep in the time since they had crossed the Entwash.

The next day their guides shook them awake and as soon as they had descended down the ladder Amran handed them blindfolds again. They walked in near silence, only the chirping of the birds above breaking the quiet. Amran didn't seem especially talkative and the other two elves didn't seem to speak the Common Tongue.

Finally after nearly another day of travel Amran spoke, "you can remove the blindfolds."

Cersei undid the knot behind her head and dropped the cloth, her breath caught as she saw the many golden trees shining in the light of the sunset.

"Gods," she heard Kevan gasp behind her, "it's beautiful!"

It truly was, she felt a peace come over her as she watched the Mallorn trees swaying softly in the low light. Almost absently she stepped forwards, following behind Amran. It was almost like something out of a dream, her thoughts grew soft and muted as she looked around. There were dwellings within the trees that seemed almost grown from the wood itself. A few elves watched them enter, but rather than suspicion or fear only curiosity was on their faces.

"The golden wood," she whispered to herself, looking around. In the center of the elven settlement was a great hill covered in the shining leaves.

"That is where the Lord and Lady dwell," Amran said, pointing to it as they approached. The wind blew from the east and their guide's nose curled as though he'd smelled something rotten. "There is Dol Goldur," he said pointing to a black mountain that was but a pinprick on the horizon, "where the dark lord gathered strength before announcing himself." The elf shuddered, "Spiders, orcs, and evil men dwell there now."

"Spiders?" Kevan asked.

"Spawn of Ungoliant," Amran said, "as clever as any man or elf, fangs dripping with venom…"

"Even as a child I scoffed at the tales of giant spiders beyond the Wall…" Kevan said to her quietly, "Now though? What is left of the children's tales that we haven't already seen?"

 _The Night's King, the Witch King, Children of the Forest, the Elves,_ a sense of wonder came over her again as she looked up at the golden canopy, _what_ is _left to be seen?_ She looked to the east and felt a sense of trepidation looking at the blackened border between the golden wood and the mountain of Dol Goldur. She pushed it from her mind and looked further up the path towards the great tree that made up the palace at the top of the hill.

Amran pushed the gate open and gestured for them to enter, "This is where I leave you," he said.

Kevan frowned, "Should you not accompany us? To protect your lord and lady?"

Amran only smiled, "Here? In the heart of their power? Go now, they are waiting."

Cersei and Kevan looked at one another a moment before stepping inside. The hall was alight with some strange pale glow from overhead. A set of stairs lead upwards towards a pair of thrones, at the top were two figures bathed in light.

Cersei gasped as the first of them stepped forward, it was a woman, fair of face and visage, wearing white robes, her golden hair trailing down below a simple crown. The other was no less impressive, an elven lord, with a silver coat over a white shirt and a golden crown of his own.

"Welcome, emissaries of the Westerlands," the lady said, "I am Galadriel, Lady of Lothlorien and the Galadhrim."

"And I am Celeborn, their Lord," the male elf said, walking forward.

Kevan seemed at a loss for words, he fumbled in his pouch a moment, for the necklace probably, but simply dropped it instead, "I… I am sorry," he said hesitantly, "Please forgive-"

"We have awaited you Kevan Lannister, ever faithful even so far from home," Galadriel said with a soft smile. She knelt forward and picked up his pack, handing it back to him. Absently Kevan's hand went inside and withdrew the necklace, it shone pleasantly in the light.

Galandriel's eyes noticed it and she took it from Kevan's outstretched hand, "fine craftsmanship…"

"It was my sister Genna's," Kevan stuttered, "She had it made in the Free Cities… it was in the world we came from. They still have some Valyrian arts there… It is a gift for you your grace."

She smiled and took it before looking to Cersei. A range of emotions flashed across her face, taking Cersei by surprise. Finally the lady of the wood's face settled on… pity?

"We have much to talk about," Lady Galadriel said, "but for now rest, you have had a long journey here…" she looked at Cersei a moment, "and still a long journey ahead of you."

One of the guards stepped forward, "Come with me please," he said, nodding.

"Yes, of course," Kevan said quietly, "come Cersei, let's get ourselves settled." The two of them walked behind the guard down one of the hallways.

She found herself still troubled by the look Galadriel had given her, even the legends and stories she'd read hadn't come close to seeing it in person… _what manner of place is this really?_ She thought to herself, _Galadriel is said to see within the souls of men..._ she froze, _what did she see in mine?_

 **A/N: reviews**

 **ATP - well Tywin is fond of marriage alliances but back when he was "sizing up" the kingdoms of Middle Earth he probably brushed off the Elven realms thinking they were small and insignificant since he wouldn't have known their true nature then. Of course now he's sending his brother and his daughter out to beg for help so things have obviously changed... Also happy Easter to you too!**

 **Window Girl - Thanks to you too! Anyways in canon Stranger hates everyone but Sandor himself, if you think over his name and what Sandor represents in canon (which of the Seven has "two faces?") it makes a sick sort of sense that Gandalf would have the best understanding of him.**

 **Also to everyone who commented on Sandor's thoughts on Moria... yeah he's got a nasty shock coming.**


	92. LXXXIX The Second Son

**LXXXIX**

 **The Second Son**

The journey back down the mountain went easily enough, the hobbits grimaced as they walked over the fallen rocks that had crushed their foes, and even Faramir himself found the sight of a hand sticking out of the rubble unsettling.

"Did you do this?" Clegane asked Gandalf, looking around.

"I did not cause the rockslide," The wizard replied, "but I helped it find a path favorable to our aims."

"With any luck the others hunting us in these hills will see it and think you have the power to strike them all down so easily," Faramir said.

They continued on the path for the rest of the day, eventually making camp at a lower, warmer, altitude. The night was mostly uneventful, and after the cold and howling wind of the night before Faramir was glad to get some easy rest.

The party set out the next day after Sam cooked them a breakfast of sausages and sliced potatoes. Gimli and Aragorn were up front with Gandalf discussing the best entrance to the mines. Faramir had never been to Moria and knew little of these lands, so he held back with Clegane and the hobbits, and then further back still until he was back with the Elf, Legolas, and the pack horses.

"Faramir," Legolas greeted him, "I have seen no sign of pursuers, and my eyes are keen."

"So I have heard," Faramir said, there was a sudden gust of wind and his nose wrinkled a moment, "how is your nose though Elf?"

Legolas frowned, "I don't understand-"

"That smell on the air, like wet dog mixed with soil," Faramir said, peering around.

Legolas's eyes went wide, "Wargs?" he breathed quietly.

Faramir nodded, "I think we're being tracked, usually they're careful enough to stay downwind of their prey, but against the mountain as we are they probably only have the choice to come at us from one direction."

"Tell Gandalf," Legolas replied, pulling an arrow from his quiver, "I'll watch for them."

He walked slowly back towards the front of the company. Clegane noticed him and nodded, but when he didn't return the gesture the man raised an eyebrow. Looking back at Legolas, now with an arrow nocked on his bowstring, he merely gave an annoyed sigh and began glancing around himself.

"It was a doorway used mostly by the elves," Gandalf was saying, "it was by the arts of both peoples that-"

"Excuse me Gandalf," Faramir said quietly, "I believe that we are being followed."

"By whom," Gandalf.

"Wargs," Faramir replied, "Legolas and I have not seen them yet but we caught their scent on the wind, if only briefly."

"Looking for vengeance for their friends no doubt," Gimli said gruffly, "they'll meet the same fate if they trouble us!"

"No," Gandalf said shaking his head, "where the men of Dunland serve Saruman the wargs of these lands are beholden to dark lord himself. I believe Saruman seeks the ring for his own ends, and the enemy is likely aware of his treachery. The wargs probably followed the hunters hoping to ambush the victor in our struggle."

"Then they have probably found us not half as weak and depleted as they'd hoped," Aragorn said, "they will come during the night if they can."

"Then we will hurry towards the Doors of Durin," Gandalf said, "They will not follow us into the mountain."

The party picked up the pace, moving quickly along an old road that Legolas explained to him had once been used by the elves of that land to trade with the dwarves. There was a small creek next to it and in time a large lake came into view. It was a stagnant looking thing, with water more green than blue, dead algae crusted on the rocks as the waves gently lapped the shore.

"Don't drink from that water," he said idly to the hobbits as they followed the road around towards the cliff side.

"I think I could have figured that out myself," Merry said, looking at it with distaste, he grinned a moment, "good of you to warn Pippin though!"

"I know better than to drink stagnant water!" the other hobbit snapped. Pippin looked at the rock wall beside them, "Where is this door anyway?"

"Dwarven doors aren't meant to be seen when they aren't open," Gimli said, "only those who already know exactly where they are can find them."

"And that is a secret long forgotten," Gandalf replied, tapping his staff against the rocks as they moved, "It was forged in a union of the crafts of dwarves and elves, when those two peoples were still fast friends."

"And it was not the fault of Dwarves that the friendship failed," Gimli said, glaring back at Legolas.

"And you are mistaken if you think it was the fault of elves," Legolas replied in a low voice.

"I've heard plenty on the matter from both sides," Gandalf replied in a tired voice, "Frankly I could do to hear less now. Legolas, Gimli, if I might ask one more thing of you it is that you be friends and help me, I need you both and the road ahead will be difficult enough as it is."

The two glared at one another one last time before joining Gandalf in feeling along the walls. A moment later Gandalf shouted in triumph.

"I've found the inscription," The Wizard said, brushing aside a bit of dust. He frowned, "Blast, the door will only reveal itself under the light of the stars and the moon."

"So we wait until nightfall then," Clegane said, looking back down the road they'd come on, "what about the wolves? We'll be easy prey for them against these rocks."

"Faramir, Legolas," Aragorn called, "with me! We will double back and see if we can determine where they are."

"Is it wise to split up?" Frodo asked, looking about uneasily.

"You've got me, the dwarf, and the Wizard," Clegane said, "if they come this way I think we can hold off some wolves until those three make it back to us."

"He speaks the truth," Gandalf said, "and we must find out if the wolves are upon us. Do not worry for them Legolas, Faramir, and Aragorn are all skilled in the art of stealth."

The three of them walked back down the road around the lake and back into the trees, each quieting their breathing and lightening their steps as they entered the brush. He fell in behind Aragorn as he led their search. It was something of a comfort to be suddenly traveling with others who were skilled in woodcraft, the three of them passed over sticks without breaking them, through mud without tracks, and the sounds of the wood drowned out what little noise they made.

After nearly an hour of searching and seeing no sign of their pursuers they followed Aragorn back to the others, "They're gone," he said simply, walking up to Gandalf.

"Gone?" Clegane asked, "What do you mean they're gone?"

"They must have stopped their pursuit at least a few hours back," Legolas said, " There are no tracks, no markings, and no scat. For some reason they were unwilling to follow us here."

"Perhaps Balin and his colonists still dwell in Khazad Dum!" Gimli said hopefully, "the wolves fear to come near the mountain for they know it is in dwarven hands once more!"

"Perhaps," Gandalf said quietly. He turned to the others, "we will need to release the horses, we cannot take them with us inside the mountain."

"Not poor old Bill Gandalf!" Sam exclaimed, "Letting him go out here in the wilderness with wolves about is as good as murdering him!"

"Is it really necessary to let the horses go?" Clegane asked with a sigh. He looked away a moment as though embarrassed, "I've just had Stranger for a long time you see, and-"

"Releasing them now gives them the best chance for survival," Legolas assured him, "the wolves may return if we wait too long."

Gandalf walked forward, stroking Bill's nose fondly, "He is a wise horse, I think he will find his way back to Rivendell easily enough." He moved to Stranger, the horse snorted and the Wizard raised an eyebrow, "This one… I feel sorry for any wolf or bandit that troubles him."

"You've got that right," Clegane said. He pulled the horse's saddle off and threw it to the ground, "I suppose you won't be needing that…" He glanced over at Sam and Bill a moment, "Take care of the little one." Once they had taken the necessary food and supplies from the horses the two animals slowly trotted away back up the way they'd come.

Night fell not long after that, and true to Gandalf's words as soon as the moon rose in the sky among the stars the glowing outline of a door appeared, covered in elvish symbols. Engraved in white light was a crown and star above a hammer and anvil set between a pair of shimmering trees.

"What does it say?" Sam asked eagerly.

"Speak friend and enter," Gandalf replied.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Pippin asked.

"It's quite simple really," Gandalf explained, "you just need to know the password." He stepped back a moment and shouted something in Elvish. The Wizard frowned and then yelled something in the clacking and harsh that Faramir guessed was a dwarven tongue. After a few more attempts Gandalf paused and sat down on a nearby rock, thinking. "I just need a moment," He muttered.

A short time later he was himself sitting against the rock wall while Gandalf continued to guess passwords. Legolas and Gimli were with him, talking over the riddle, Clegane was loafing about near Sam and Frodo as Merry and Pippin skipped stones over the murky water.

"Maybe we shouldn't have let the horses go so soon," Clegane commented.

"Maybe not," Faramir agreed. He watched another of the stones fly from Pippin's hand and bounce across the surface of the water. He frowned a moment as he swore he saw movement in the corner of his eye. _A fish perhaps?_ He stood up for a better look, _but what fish swims_ towards _the surface when stones are thrown?_

"That's it," Frodo said excitedly, "Gandalf! What's the elvish word for friend?"

" _Mellon,_ " The Wizard said slowly, looking towards the door. Faramir's heart leapt with excitement as with a slow creaking sound the stone itself seemed to part, opening up into a dark tunnel leading downwards.

"A clever hobbit!" Gimli said, praising Frodo, "to decipher my kin's riddle where I could not!"

Frodo was about to say something but cried out in shock as he was suddenly pulled off his feet and dragged towards the water. Faramir was shocked to see a long and shining green limb, like a snake or a vine, grasping Frodo's ankle. Everyone in the party ran forward, Gimli clasped the hobbit by the hand, keeping him from sliding into the water even as Merry ran forward and sliced through the appendage, freeing his friend.

There was a splashing sound as dozens of other tentacles burst forward, reaching and grabbing at them. As he pulled back his bowstring he could see a large bulbous shape surfacing farther out into the water, aiming away from the tentacles he loosed an arrow towards what he guessed was an eye. He was rewarded by an angry shrieking noise.

"Into the mines!" Gandalf shouted as the party ran towards the door. He heard the sound of displaced water behind him and glanced over his shoulder to see that the thing had now hoisted itself out of the water entirely, revealing a bulging mass of muscle and tentacles as it shuffled awkwardly after them.

Just as Faramir reached the inside of the doorway he heard a creaking and crashing sound, looking back again he saw that the thing was now grabbing at the support columns around the door, tearing them down. A final sound of shattering stone rang out before the Door of Durin collapsed entirely, leaving them in darkness.

He heard Gandalf whisper something and a moment later the top of the Wizard's staff glowed brightly, illuminating the room. There was a moment of silence as each of them looked around quickly, trying to see if anyone was missing. After his second time counting faces Faramir breathed a sigh of relief, they'd all made it inside.

"Well we know what was scaring the wolves away," Clegane muttered, "I think I'd have preferred the beasts…"

There was sudden anguished cry from Gimli and they all looked to see a pair of desiccated corpses leaned against the wall. Judging from their stature and the beards on their rotted faces Faramir guessed they were dwarves.

"So this is the fate of the colony then," Gandalf said grimly, "I'd feared as much…"

"This isn't a mine," Aragorn muttered, "It's a tomb."

Legolas ran forward and examined an arrow stuck in one of the bodies, "goblin," he said, pulling it out and examining it.

"We have no choice but to pass through," Gandalf said, "we will do so quickly and quietly."

Gimli pulled his hood over his head, "And we will show no mercy to any who stand in our way…" he snarled quietly.

With that the party descended into the dark depths of Moria.

 **A/N: A bit shorter than usual maybe but we're into Moria now.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Tywin's let the whole marriage alliances thing fall by the wayside at this point as the war has become more intense, it's about survival not position now. If Jaime and Eowyn end up together it will be a personal development not one brokered by Tywin.**

 **Pyromania101 - Cersei's chapters are always hard to write since it's hard "getting into her head" and at the same time I'm trying to put her on a track for character growth. I'm glad to see you're enjoying them, it makes me think I'm accomplishing what I set out to do with her.**

 **Big Allen - I suddenly have a vision of Tywin and Dain II getting into a passive aggressive gift giving "contest" trying to one up each other over the years trying to prove to the masses who was richer.**

 **Efhb1994 - Glad you liked it, though I do wonder how you guys keep reading the whole thing in like a day or two, I mean it took like six months to write it!**


	93. XC The Old Lion

**XC**

 **The Old Lion**

Tywin stood in the courtyard at the top of the citadel of Minas Tirith, reading the letter his son had sent him. He had read it over at least five times now, until he was certain he had determined every possible hidden meaning.

 _Father,_

 _In your name I have declared the Kingdom of the Rock and the Westerlands to be a sovereign realm once more, with House Lannister retaining all titles and lands held before the Targaryen conquest. With the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms now gone the new High Septon has declared all oaths of loyalty to them to be void by the will of the Gods. Archmaester Perestan has also prepared a lengthy legal treatise stating something similar, though I've decided to let Aunt Genna review it rather than doing so myself._

 _I know that you had ordered Tommen crowned, but after careful consideration and the counsel of friends and family I declared you as the king with myself as your heir. By the time you receive this letter the coronation will already have taken place and Tommen has been promised Castamere and the surrounding lands as consolation. I will march now to Rohan to join with my brother and defeat the Wizard Saruman. I am sure you do not approve of some of my actions, but then_ _ **your grace**_ _, you never have, and as I have before I will go forward now on my own._

"Does something trouble you Lord Tywin?" he turned to see Denethor walking out of the citadel, "I had heard you received news from your homeland. Has Ser Jaime begun his march?"

"Prince Jaime now," Tywin said, "and yes he has… I've also apparently been named king of the Westerlands."

Denethor's eyebrows went up, "Congratulations are in order I suppose," the steward said, "shall I order our smiths to prepare a crown?"

"You have my thanks but I believe if I am to bear one it should be made by my own people," Tywin replied, folding the letter and placing it in his pocket.

"I take it you did not want to hold this honor?" Denethor asked, a hint of amusement on his face.

Tywin sighed, "It is something of a relief to see my son finally showing some ambition in life, though he might have found a better way to express it than deposing his nephew."

"And what is to become of young Tommen?" Denethor asked.

"There are lands and a castle being prepared for him," Tywin replied, "he will become Tommen Baratheon of Castamere it seems."

"Is it wise to leave a scion of the previous dynasty so close?" Denethor asked, "Gondor has suffered the pain of kin-strife in the past, none emerge victorious from such a struggle save for a people's enemies."

"The thought had crossed my mind," Tywin said, "but Tommen is young yet, and my grandson. Perhaps he might be convinced to join the Septons or become a Maester, and if not… the Lannisters have razed Castamere in the past, if it becomes necessary we can do it again."

"Hopefully it never comes to that," Denethor said, "I wish I could move this conversation to happier topics but the only other news I have is of the struggle against the Dark Lord."

"Speak then," Tywin said, glancing to the east where the black mountains rose. The volcanos of Mordor were less active today, scarcely a glow penetrated the dark clouds over that land.

"Boromir has returned and taken command in Osgiliath, though the enemy gathers across the river it seems unlikely that they can force a crossing without sustaining losses beyond even what Sauron can afford."

"We have some respite then," he said, looking down towards the ruined city. _At least until_ He _returns…_ The Lord of the Nazgul had caused him to feel a fear he was certain he had left behind in childhood, and though he had faced death dozens of times in his life before such a creature he'd felt as helpless as a small babe. Tyrion had claimed he encountered the Nine in Rohan, but while it was comforting to know they did not command the host across the river their true errand was one he often wondered about. _The Ring Denethor speaks of… what else could draw such beings away from the promise of battle on this scale?_

"When the Wizard is dead we may gather all of our forces here before Minas Tirith and have a final battle to decide this conflict," Tywin said, studying the plains below.

"It is a battle we will lose," Denethor said quietly.

"I am aware that the odds of success are low," Tywin replied, "but any man who rides to battle believing he has been defeated _will_ be defeated." His face lightened somewhat, "if we should win it will be quite the legacy, to have defeated a being such as Sauron… children will remember our names for hundreds of years after we are dead."

"And if we should ourselves fall those children will be slaves of Mordor," the Steward muttered.

"I will fight so long as I have breath," Tywin said in a low voice. "Lord Denethor I plan to ride down to Osgiliath to inspect our defenses, will you join me?"

The other man shook his head, "I'm afraid I must remain here and attend to matters in the city, but I wish you well."

 _You often remain in the city Lord Denethor,_ he thought, _and retire behind locked doors where news of enemy movements somehow reaches you…_ Tywin had long suspected that Denethor possessed one of the lost _Palantir,_ strange artifacts that allowed the Gondorian lords of old to spy far away things, but he was unsure what to do about it. Attempting to take the device seemed pointless, he knew little of sorcery save for the Septon's warnings not to engage in it, and in any case Denethor seemed willing enough to share whatever information he gleaned from it. Still, he yearned to see it for himself, to use it for himself… He scowled and began the walk towards the stables, his guards following close behind, the _palantir,_ if it existed, was a matter for another day.

"Grandfather!" he heard a girl's voice call from behind him. He stopped and a smile very nearly came over his face as Myrcella ran to his side. "Grandfather are you going down to Osgiliath?!" she asked excitedly.

"I am," Tywin replied, "and why is a young lady like yourself troubled by the business of a boring old man?"

Myrcella rolled her eyes, "Grandfather the only thing boring about you is the way you dress."

He looked down a moment at his robes, the shining red silk reflecting the midday sun nicely. _She's just a girl,_ he assured himself _she doesn't know any better._

"Myrcella wait!" called another voice, the two of them looked to see Jeyne Westerling awkwardly running out after them. She held a pair of bundled blankets under each arm. "You have to carry one of these!" the girl said, handing one of the quilts to Myrcella.

Tywin raised an eyebrow, "Now I must insist girl, do you have some business with me?"

"Oh grandfather please take us down to Osgiliath with you! We've knitted a pair of blankets for the men! Winter is coming…"

"The Starks were fond of saying so yes," Tywin said, looking around at the garden on top of the citadel. Some of the plants were already changing color, it still unnerved him how quickly the seasons changed here, it seemed he'd hardly had time to grow accustomed to the summer heat before it was gone and the nights began growing cold again. He paused a moment, "Do you have any particular _men_ that you wish to bring blankets to granddaughter?"

A blush came over Myrcella's face, "Well I had talked to Amrothos of Dol Amroth… he is there serving under his father's command. He says it grows cold near the river, and he is often up all night keeping watch!"

"The son of Prince Imrahil?" Tywin said nodding, "I'm sure he will appreciate the gesture. I suppose you two might accompany me for the afternoon."

"You let mother stay the night in the city," Myrcella pouted.

His face darkened, "And your mother found herself on the front lines of a battle, I don't want that for you."

"But it's different now!" Myrcella exclaimed, "Uncle Jaime defeated the Witch King in battle and threw down the bridges in a fit of rage to stop the enemy!"

He chuckled slightly, "Come now girl, you can't tell me you believe that version of events?"

"We should ask Ser Boromir about it," Jeyne said, "He was there wasn't he?"

"So was I Lady Westerling,"Tywin said tersely, "and we were all lucky to come away alive." He eyed her a moment, "I suppose the other blanket is for Boromir then?"

Westerling seemed flustered, "I-" She glanced at Myrcella, "that is to say we, thought it would be insulting for one of his bannermen to receive a gift while he received nothing…"

"Is that so?" Tywin asked, "So did you also knit a blanket for Prince Imrahil?" the girls just stared at him silently, _trying to think of another excuse,_ he thought with amusement, "What of Ser Marbrand? He is a commanding officer as well isn't he?"

"We only knitted the two blankets grandfather…" Myrcella said quietly.

"I suppose they are yours to dole out as you wish then," he said. "Come then, I had my carriage prepared just below." The two girls giggled excitedly and followed him down to the stables.

Not long after that they were passing through the city gates. It would still be some time before they reached the ruins of Osgiliath, and his mind wandered as they passed along the road. _Amrothos of Dol Amroth,_ he thought, _a third son with no inheritance…_ there had been precious little time, or need truthfully, to play the game of thrones of late, but he indulged himself anyway. _Myrcella is now mere nobility rather than a princess and sister to the king, perhaps the son of a prince would not be an altogether bad match…_ He studied his granddaughter a moment, _she will flower soon enough, Amrothos is probably young enough to wait for a time if such an arrangement were made._

"Grandfather?" Myrcella asked, noticing him staring at her.

"I'm sorry my dear," he said, "I was just noticing how much you looked like your mother." _Something to think on after the war,_ he decided, _closer ties with Dol Amroth would be desirable._

"I'd heard from some of the guards that you're to be the new king instead of Tommen, is that true?" His granddaughter asked.

"And who told you that?" he asked, surprised, he had not expected the news to travel so quickly.

"A guard," she said with a smug smile, "It isn't polite to tell on your friends for passing you a rumor grandfather… is it true though?"

 _Smart for her age,_ he thought, "Indeed, it was decided that I would take up the crown over your brother."

"I think that's for the best," Myrcella said immediately, "Tommen is a little…" he knew she wanted to say weak but was looking for a nicer way to put it. "Tommen is too nice to be a king," she said finally.

"Time will tell what manhood will make of your brother," Tywin said mildly, "all men were weak as children." Myrcella nodded, seemingly deep in thought.

His gaze turned to Jeyne Westerling, by all accounts Joffrey's army had looted the Crag, House Westerling, just starting to get back on it's feet, would be forced to spend another few years at least in recovery. _Lord Westerling must realize his only remaining asset is a daughter of marriageable age, but does the girl realize that?_ He was fairly certain that Jeyne had been sent to Minas Tirith with the hope that she would meet a wealthy foreign lord, probably one who did not know about her family's fortune, or lack thereof.

"Lady Westerling do you know Captain Boromir well?" he asked suddenly.

She gave an embarrassed smile, "before he left for Pelargir we talked a few times."

 _The Westerlings aligned with the line of the Stewards might be a more powerful force than I am comfortable with,_ he decided. Perhaps he would speak to Denethor about it, in the meantime he would be certain to write Genna and ask her to have certain words with the lord and lady of the Crag. He thought a moment, _not entirely too harsh though, no need to imply conspiracy where this could be naught but young love and lust._

They came to a stop at the outer wall of the ruined city and exited the carriage. The guards followed behind the three of them as they walked through the gates. His eyes lingered a moment on the palace that was still being used as housing for the officers and noblemen, it looked much the same as the last time he'd been there.

"Lord Tywin," Boromir called, walking towards them. "I am glad to see you on your feet again!"

"The Maester has warned me to rest often, but I find that moving about and resuming ones duties helps wounds to heal faster," Tywin said.

Boromir nodded and smiled, "I've often felt the same. Listen to a healer and they'll have you on bedrest until the day of your death." He noticed the girls behind Tywin, "greetings Lady Westerling, Princess Myrcella."

"Only Lady Myrcella now," The girl piqued up from behind him, "Grandfather is the new king!"

Boromir raised an eyebrow, "Is this true… your grace?"

Tywin sighed, "Yes, Jaime has declared himself a prince and myself a king, we received the news just this morning."

Boromir was silent a moment, thinking over the news, "I suppose it doesn't matter much to me either way," he said finally. "I do wish _Prince_ Jaime were here, he and Faramir are the only men in the world that are worth a sparring match one on one."

Tywin frowned, "Do you have much time for such diversions so close to the front line of the war?"

"The front lines of a phony war," Boromir scowled, "the enemy has made few attempts to cross except to scout our positions. Both of our armies know the other's lines well now, but as we cannot take the East bank from them nor can they take the West bank from us. Neither side can march away lest the other gain advantage, and so we are stuck here glaring at one another until something happens allowing one side to seize the initiative."

"Surely you must have some plans?" Tywin questioned, "Raids on the opposite bank perhaps?"

Boromir shrugged, "I have arranged for a few small sorties, and they do try to cross in small groups perhaps every other day… but their heart is not in it. Often they turn back as soon as the first arrows meet the water before them."

"If the enemy refuses to grasp the bramble perhaps we can force his hand somehow," Tywin said. "The Nazgul are not here are they?"

"No," Boromir replied, "The orc chieftains and men of the east are in command. I believe the orcs will stir again when they return from whatever errand has distracted them." He thought a moment, "We do have a prisoner, a man of Harad by his speech, would you like to question him?"

Tywin glanced back at the two girls, "Lady Westerling, why don't you and Myrcella wait for us in the palace, ask the servants to make some tea."

Westerling seemed to note the change in his tone and nodded, "Yes… your grace," she turned to his granddaughter and the two of them walked towards the palace, chatting amongst themselves, blankets still tucked under their arms.

The two men walked to an open area where a swarthy man was held in stockades, he swore angrily at them.

"He says he does not fear us," Boromir translated, "he says that he laughs at…" he sighed a moment, "he says that the banner of House Lannister should be a yellow worm, not a gold lion."

Tywin's fists clenched involuntarily, "Bring me Timett," he said to the guard next to him.

"Your grace?" The guard asked uncertainly.

" _Do it,"_ he spat. Causing the man to scurry away in search of the clansman. He slowly walked up to the restrained man. "Can he understand the common tongue?"

"Most of the Haradrim do not speak Westron," Boromir replied uncomfortably, "Do you want him executed for the remark?"

"Perhaps when he has outlived his usefulness," Tywin said cooly.

"Timett is here," he heard a gravelly voice as the one eyed man walked to them.

"What do you mean to do?" Boromir asked cautiously.

"Ask a few questions," Tywin said darkly.

The Haradrim screamed another round of obscenities and then spat at them, it landed a few feet short. Timett walked to him and gripped his hair sharply jerking the man's head upwards. He muttered a few words that sounded similar to what the man had spoken before, causing the captive's eyes to go wide.

"Timett has learned some of the words of these desert men," he said, walking back towards Tywin. Seeing Boromir's expression Timett grinned, "we took a few of these desert men the last time they came across the river, it was decided that you must tell a man he is to die in his own tongue. They were fortunate to die slowly enough to teach us some of it." He looked back at the captive still smiling, "he said that I understood nothing, and that he would tell me nothing even if I did."

"And what did you say back to him?" Tywin asked.

"I told him that I could," Timett replied, "and that he will."

The man started shouting excitedly, "He says he wants to talk to me now," Boromir said with some amusement, "it seems word has spread among them of the way your men treat any who are taken alive."

"A lord cannot be held responsible for the actions of his entire army," Tywin said mildly, "and I'm sure our own captives are not treated half so well as this one here. If it troubles you I will speak to Marbrand about it."

"I'm sure," Boromir said darkly, it was clear from his tone that they both knew Tywin would do no such thing. "What do you hope to learn from him?"

"The location of their food, their horses," Tywin said. He breathed out angrily, "their _leaders._ "

"The Haradrim Chieftains you mean?" Boromir asked, "There are a few Easterling warlords as well."

"Indeed," Tywin replied, "they have grown complacent, they mock us… I think something should be done to put the fear of gods back into them."

"A raid then," Boromir said, "perhaps you are right, but to do anything of value we'd need to bring almost the entire army across the river."

"For what I have in mind you won't need an army," Tywin said, glaring back at the Haradrim captive, "You'll need twenty good men."

 **A/N: I thought it might be fun to see some of Tywin being Tywin, half the grandfather, half the monster ruling through fear. My favorite scenes with him from the show were the ones where he met Arya since it highlighted his "dual natures," it was one of the better things the show added in my opinion.  
**

 **Quelthias - I've enjoyed reading all of your reviews and hope to see many more! To answer your question about the Nazgul it wasn't so much that they have no idea where the Shire is it's more that they're looking for the easiest way to get there. As he did in canon Saruman tried to lie, but this time around they _know_ Saruman knows where the Shire is thanks to Joffrey's misadventures. Also if you're still looking for the map there's a link to it in the first chapter of the Archive of Our Own posting for this story. I'd post it here but as I've lamented often enough this site won't let me post it. The Westerlands is over where the far western reaches of Gondor were at, they were mostly uninhabited by the third age so Gondor didn't exactly lose out big by having them "replaced" by the Westerlands. They have relatively easy access to Rohan to their North through Enedwaith.**

 **Bakkughan - Well we've just topped 400 reviews, that's something right?**

 **Slytherhiss - Clegane's been getting a little soft all around lately, he's not really used to having so many positive influences around him.**


	94. XCI The Queen

**XCI**

 **The Queen**

Cersei found herself wearing a dress again for the first time since they'd left Minas Tirith. It was a light and airy thing, with a pale green color that seemed to shimmer slightly as she walked to meet Kevan on their way to the great hall. The elves had given them fresh clothing and rooms, as well as food that seemed to reinvigorate her as much as a day's rest might have.

"I trust your accommodations suit you Lady Cersei?" a pleasant voice called from behind her. She froze and turned slowly to see the lady of the wood, Galadriel, walking down the hallway towards her.

"Y-Yes," she stammered, keeping eye contact, "My Uncle and I have found your hospitality most generous."

"That is good," Galadriel said smiling and refusing to break her stare "the golden wood has few visitors now, and as the shadow grows stronger I fear we will see fewer still."

"Ah there you are Cersei!" Kevan called, coming towards them. He was wearing a set of red silk robes like those favored among the nobility in Lannisport and the Rock. She realized he must have sealed them away somewhere in his pack and a part of her wished she'd done the same. He saw Galadriel and a red look came over his face as he bowed swiftly, "My Lady, this place is… I have no words."

Galadriel smiled fondly, "And I require none from you Ser Kevan, it is my wish that all who come to Lothlorien might find more than mere rest, but a reminder of _Aman_ over the sea."

"I may have to see these lands over the sea one day," Kevan said quietly.

At that Galadriel's smile faded and she seemed to withdraw a moment into her own thoughts, "Come," she said suddenly, "Celeborn waits for us, whatever entreaties you have to make will be made before the court."

They followed her to a hall with a number of tables where Celeborn was seated in one of a pair of twin thrones. A few other elves waited there, talking amongst themselves in their soft language. Galadriel moved to her husband's side and sat, causing the hall to drop entirely into silence. The light of sunset was coming in through the skylights, bathing them all in the orange twilight.

"Ser Kevan Lannister," Celeborn began, "Lady Cersei Lannister, you are the first men of the Westerlands to reach our kingdom. Truthfully when word of the Arrival first reached us it was dismissed as mere rumor. It was only by the confirmation of wise and trusted friends that we came to believe it at all, yet now here you are." He looked between the two of them, "What business brings you to our land?"

"The war against the Mordor and it's allies," Kevan said loudly so that all could hear.

There were murmurs and Celeborn leaned in, "So the men of the Westerlands have found themselves joined to this ancient struggle?" A small smile came over his face, "whatever else might be said for your people they must have some good in them to have so quickly earned the Dark Lord's ire."

"Agents of Sauron plotted to kill my brother Jaime and I," Cersei said suddenly, she thought a moment, "Our brother Tyrion was bewitched by his sorcery, turning him against his own family."

 _But his family turned against_ him _long before that didn't they Cersei?_ The voice seemed to echo through her thoughts and she recognized it as Galadriel's. She realized that Kevan was looking at her, she spared a quick glance at the Lady of the Wood, who was staring intently at her, lips unmoving.

"W-We have come to ask you to join with the realms of men as you did in days long ago, when your people marched with the armies of Gondor and defeated Sauron," she continued.

"We cannot face this threat alone," Kevan said, producing the letters from Tywin, "We have met the foe in battle… we might have stood against them but for the power of the Nazgul and their black magicks." He moved forward, handing the letter to Celeborn, "without your people and their arts… I fear this war may already be lost."

 _No armies of elves or men will win this day,_ The lady's voice echoed in her mind again. She struggled to keep herself staring ahead, _the fate of the people of middle earth will now be decided by the strength of their spirit and will, not strength of arms. What is the strength of your spirit?_

Celeborn sat in thought a moment, and his eyes drifted to Galadriel and Cersei realized that they were speaking with one another unheard by her and Kevan.

"Lothlorien is under threat by the armies of the enemy as it is," the elven lord said finally. "Dark things gather in Dol Goldur, the enemy's reach has grown long enough that he may yet threaten us even here." A look of genuine regret came over his face, "we do not have the mighty hosts of earlier days. It will be all we can do to keep the Golden Wood free of the shadow."

"But you defeated him before!" Kevan protested.

"We have begun to fade," Galadriel spoke up, "our realms are now only a shadow of what they once were. The days of our grandest glory are gone."

"You believe you have faded?" Kevan said, looking around, "this is a realm beyond anything I have seen before, even the Gardens of the Reach are not half so beautiful, the magic here… _that_ is what we need to destroy our enemies, this power you wield is our only hope!"

"You have my word that we will do what we can to help you and your people," Celeborn said quietly, "but what aid we give will not be in the form of great showings of power or mighty hosts. I am sorry."

Kevan sighed, "Then our mission has failed…"

 _We are doomed then,_ she thought miserably.

 _Not doomed,_ the voice came again, _I spoke the truth Cersei, the war will be fought with more than swords and shields._ Now Galadriel met her eyes again, _you will have a part to play yet, but if you go forward as you are I see only sorrow awaiting you._

She frowned, _what does that mean?_ Anger crept into her thoughts, _you offer us no help and now you going to mock me with riddles?_

 _No riddles Lady Cersei. There is a grove behind the palace, meet me there when the moon rises and I will give you the answers you seek._

"Please stay for a time Ser Kevan," Celeborn said finally, "We would hear of your land and your world if we could. Many here are well learned in the lore and histories of other peoples and we would love to add your stories to our own if we could." He smiled, "It will be a long while before we have another visitor from the Westerlands I think."

"That seems reasonable," Kevan said nodding. He gave a disappointed sigh, "We will need to return soon of course, but I think remaining here for a few more days will not hurt." He shot a glance at Cersei and she could tell he was thinking of what to do with her. If they did not return with elves… she decided she would mull on that another time. Kevan was walking away with Celeborn and some of the other elves now, distantly she heard their conversation turning to the tale of how the Lannister family had first come to Casterly Rock.

She realized she was alone in the hall now, Galadriel had left without her noticing. The sun was set now, leaving only torchlight in the hall as the first of the stars began to appear outside the windows. _She will be expecting me soon,_ Cersei realized. She felt a pit in her stomach and wondered if she would be able to bear being in Galadriel's presence alone, with all of her secrets revealed.

She slowly walked to a door leading out of the back of the palace. There was a path prepared there, bordered by a set of intricate hedges above neat cobblestones. She walked along it, noticing that the air seemed to have become still, the normal sounds of night fading away. She came around a corner to see Galadriel waiting for her alone in an enclosed garden. In the center was a low pedestal which seemed to be made from the roots and branches of the trees themselves, atop it sat a simple silver basin.

She found her courage and spoke first, "Why have you asked me here Lady Galadriel?"

"So that we may speak in private. I believe you already know what secrets I have divined from your mind," She replied, "Celeborn spoke true. We will give you what aid we can, even if we now lack the power to stand against Sauron as we once did."

"My father once told me that kind words are worth their weight in gold," Cersei said bitterly, "it was not until I was nearly grown that I realized that words weighed nothing."

Galadriel frowned, "There is much bitterness in your heart, fear, and anger as well… all of these are things you must set aside if you are to endure the coming struggle."

"It is easy for someone like you to say that," Cersei spat, "not all of us are blessed to enter the world as an immortal _goddess_ , worship and adoration is all you've ever-"

"Do you think I have known no sorrows?" Galadriel said, her voice growing low.

"What sorrows could you know?" Cersei asked, "I am a mother who has outlived her children… you and yours are undying"

In that moment it was as though a mask had been ripped from Galadriel's face, revealing something feral and angry underneath, "You believe that you have learned all there is to know of suffering when you have not even lived a single lifetime?" The wind picked up and Cersei felt suddenly afraid, "I have seen more death and misery than you can possibly imagine." Galadriel stepped towards her, her hair whipping wildly in the breeze.

Cersei stumbled and fell back, barely catching herself and holding her hand up, "I'm sorry!" she cried, "Please…" Galadriel paused and the wind died down again, the elven queen breathed out slowly and sighed before holding out a hand. Cersei grasped it and Galadriel pulled her up.

"You make this more difficult than it needs to be," Galadriel said quietly, "come closer," she beckoned Cersei to the basin in the center of the garden. She moved to a small fountain near the edge of the enclosure, she grasped a small pitcher and filled it with water. Moving back to Cersei she slowly poured the water into the basin, "Gaze into the mirror Cersei Lannister."

She hesitated, "Is it… magic?"

"Magic… men use the same word for both our arts and that of the enemy," Galadriel turned back to her, "Yes, I suppose in your tongue it would be called magic, though I would ask you not confuse it with those foul things done by the Dark Lord or his servants." Cersei peered into the basin, the water was still rippling slightly, though a strange silver sheen came from just below the surface.

"What will I see?" She asked.

"Not even the wisest can say for certain," The elven queen replied, staring into it a moment herself, "Perhaps you will see what you want to see, though it may be more beneficial to gaze upon what you _need_ to see."

"Aren't they the same?" Cersei asked, but Galadriel only stared at her, impassive. "Fine then," Cersei said, "Show me what you will."

"Headstrong," Galadriel said with a smile, "As I was in days past." She thought a moment, "Your past has shaped you as well."

"I was given to a drunken lecher to be little better than his slave," She leaned over into the basin, "if not for Robert perhaps things would have been different…"

The water shimmered a moment and she saw herself in her wedding dress marching down the aisle. She gasped as she saw not Robert, but Rhaegar Targaryen, pale and handsome in all of his finery, waiting for her.

"Rhaegar," she breathed, "he would have been a worthy husband…"

She watched as they moved into the Red Keep together, thing seemed pleasant until suddenly Rhaegar appeared with a dark haired maiden with northern features. She gasped as she saw a vision of herself confronting him, only to be struck hard across the face. As she fell to the ground bloodied Jaime appeared, rage on his face. Jaime and Rhaegar crossed swords and then she saw no more.

She felt anger boiling in her, "So there never were good men then," she growled.

"There was one you loved," Galadriel said quietly, "A poisoned love that you should not have embraced, yet did anyway."

"Jaime," she muttered, "should a brother and sister not love one another?"

"When you try to lie to me you are only lying to yourself," Galadriel said quietly, "look what that "love" wrought."

She saw herself in Westeros before the Arrival. She smiled with some satisfaction as Ned Stark was arrested before her and Joffrey in the throne room, but it faded as she saw war erupt throughout the continent. She gasped with horror as she saw a goateed man cleave Jaime's hand off at the wrist, her brother seemed to wither before her, becoming a gaunt shadow of himself. He forced a metallic gold hand to the stump where his wrist ended, becoming a mockery of what he'd been.

Tears stung her eyes and she tried to blink them away, "It is not only Jaime who would suffer…" Galadriel pointed her back to the basin.

This time she saw herself, madness in her eyes as she sat on the Iron Throne pronouncing judgment on commoners and nobles alike. Things blurred and she suddenly saw herself walking naked through the streets of King's Landing, the people jeering and throwing garbage at her until she broke down crying.

"No," She whispered, "I would have taken Jaime and the children and gone away…"

The mirror shifted again and she saw herself, Jaime, and her children somewhere in Essos. She smiled as she saw Jaime teaching Joffrey and Tommen swordplay while she and Myrcella looked on. Then it all changed, she saw the city they were in burning, men ran through the streets waving a three headed dragon banner.

 _The Targaryen standard?_ She and Jaime were brought before a young blonde woman with three small dragons set around her, _impossible,_ she thought, _the dragons were dead!_ Even more shocking was the sight of her and Jaime bowing before the strange girl, but it didn't last long. She watched as she drove a knife into the young woman's sleeping form, _The younger queen,_ she realized, _the one who would take all I held dear…_ Jaime came back into the vision next, but instead of coming to her aid he plunged a sword into her heart. _The Valonqar!_ She realized with horror. She staggered away from the mirror.

"What are these things supposed to prove?" She asked angrily, "I see no point to this torment!"

"You have seen several visions now," Galadriel said calmly, "what do they have in common?"

A part of her knew what the lady of Lothlorien was trying to say, but she buried it beneath indignation, "Each time the very fates themselves conspired to ruin whatever happiness I found," she said.

"If you would like you may stare into the mirror again," Galadriel said, staring her in the eyes, "we may do so for as long as you desire, we might view different paths your life might have taken until the coming of _Dagor Dagoroth_ itself, but no matter what possible worlds the mirror reveals it will also show you your own reflection."

She broke then, crying miserably, "Is that my destiny then?" She sobbed, "To bring about death and ruin to myself and those I love?" _Gold will be their crowns and gold will be their shrouds,_ Maggy's voice echoed, _A new world for old words Cersei Lannister!_ The Witch King's cackle followed.

"So you were read your fate in Westeros that was…" Galadriel said softly, "but in Middle Earth you are a recipient of the gift of the second kindred."

"The gift of dying," Cersei muttered, "I have read enough of your people to know what you think of _that_."

"Have you?" Galadriel asked, "I freely admit it is a thing beyond my own understanding, save that men's fates belong to them alone."

"What do you mean?" Cersei asked uncertainly.

"If you do not wish for the destiny set in front of you then you may choose another," Galadriel replied, "You are freed from all paths you might have followed in Westeros save for those you choose to walk."

"My children!" She said excitedly, "do you mean they are they free from Maggie's words?" Galadriel remained impassive and Cersei moved closer, she nearly grasped the other woman, "Tommen, Myrcella, will they die?"

Galadriel smiled, "As you are freed so are they."

This time tears of joy rolled down her cheeks, "Thank you," she sobbed, "thank you for this…"

"Do not thank me for the gifts of the creator," Galadriel said, "Nor should you thank me for easing your burden. Your fate will be different from what it could have been, but there is still a test before you… before all of us."

She sniffed, "Let it come. I have lived my life under a terrible shadow, if I am truly free from it there is no other fate that I fear."

"We will see Cersei Lannister," Galadriel said quietly, "we will see."

 **A/N: Man these Roman Numeral chapter headings are getting out of control, I didn't think we'd ever start seeing C's.  
**

 **Jackalope89 - Tywin's Tywin, you can stick him in a high fantasy world but when confronted with a problem he'll fall back on what's worked**

 **Weylandcorp4 - The raid probably won't set them back quite as much as Ramsay's set back Stannis, frankly I found that scene in the show a little ridiculous, 20 men cannot cause an entire camp to burst into flames... but that's a whole big thing that I won't start ranting about here.**

 **ATP - when I first posted this on the Alternate History forums I joked that the story would end with Tywin killing Arwen and Aragorn at their wedding, let's just say that the readers of the fic at the time did _not_ take it well haha. Obviously that's not how this is going to end so don't worry.**

 **Slytherhiss - The chapter names are kind of a reflection of how people see themselves, the nicknames drop away before momentous action, the new names occasionally come forward as people's opinions of themselves change. Tywin might be a king now but it doesn't really change much about him.**


	95. XCII Gandalf the Grey

**XCII**

 **Gandalf the Grey**

"The journey will take us perhaps four days," Gandalf said as he walked forward, "I only hope that we can traverse the mountain without disturbing whatever might be in here… there are fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world."

"Can you bring up the light a little Gandalf?" Faramir asked as the party continued through the tunnel.

"I dare not," he replied, "not for fear of being seen, but of being _felt_." He paused a moment, "Frodo, you have your uncles blade don't you?"

"I do Gandalf," the hobbit replied, "he told me that Sting yearned for another adventure."

"Carry it before you, blades forged by the elven kingdoms of old will glow blue when orcs are near. I will check Glamdring ever so often as well." He smiled, "be careful not to cut yourself! Your uncle will never forgive me if you trip and lose a toe to Sting's blade."

"Does everyone in Middle Earth need to give their sword a name?" Clegane asked from the back of the party.

"Did they not carry the custom in Westeros?" Legolas asked as they walked forward.

"Oh they did," Clegane replied, "before any tourney melee you can find a gaggle of boys with soft hands and full cheeks itching to tell you the story of how their sword got it's name." He paused a moment, "then there were the Valyrian swords, Ice, Heartsbane…"

"And now Brightroar," Faramir finished.

"And now Brightroar," Clegane echoed, "Jaime Lannister is fine swordsman to be sure, but there's too much of those tourney boys in him."

"He is… arrogant to be sure," Faramir replied, "but I have seen him in battle, he seems brave enough to apply his skill properly."

"Jaime Lannister has never seen the faces of those left behind in his wake," Clegane said bitterly, "the children left without fathers, the mothers left childless."

"And I take it you have then?" Faramir asked.

"I have," Clegane replied quietly, "but my sword remains just as swift as it ever was."

 _He thinks his ruthlessness is a strength,_ Gandalf thought, "Tell me Clegane," he called back as he ducked under a protruding stalactite, "Are we to think you the better man because you have seen such sorrow and continue to dole it out upon the world where Jaime Lannister does so in ignorance?"

At that Clegane was silent for a time, "No," he said finally, "I never claimed to be a better man for the same reason I've never claimed to be a knight, because I'm neither. I'm a man you can trust to kill when killing needs to be done. That's the skill I bring to this party, and if you thought you wouldn't need it you would have told me to stay behind in Rivendell."

"He's got the right of that," Gimli muttered, "some things need to die, and we've already met our share of them."

 _Eager for vengeance,_ Gandalf thought, _and no wonder, but he might take some of what Clegane has said to heart._ They walked for a time until they came to a large chasm, holding the light over the edge he spoke back to the party, "it was not in gold that the dwarves of Moria found their wealth, but in _mithril_." The light revealed a number of sluices and waterwheels below that looked decayed even in the low light, but below that the smallest glimmer of silver could be seen.

"Bilbo had a shirt made out of mithril," Frodo said as they continued on, "it was given to him by Thorin out of Smaug's horde."

"Indeed," Gandalf said, "I never told Bilbo for fear of embarrassing him, but that coat was worth more than the whole of The Shire." Frodo seemed a bit taken aback by the comment.

"Really now?" Clegane said, peering into the chasm, "you don't suppose there's another one of those laying around here somewhere do you?"

"Doubtful," Gimli said gruffly, "we dwarves haven't been able to mine here regularly in a thousand years, and orcs have likely stolen anything that might have been left."

"Mithril was rare then and is rarer now," Legolas piped up, "among my people we do not have enough of it to forge weapons and armor, it is mostly used in jewelry."

"The guards of the citadel in Minas Tirith wear helmets made out of it," Faramir said, "priceless heirlooms of the past days of our glory," he paused a moment and turned to Aragorn, "perhaps though there are grand days ahead of Gondor still."

"Perhaps," Aragorn replied, but he said nothing more.

They stopped for a night, or what they thought was night, and made a makeshift camp when they'd found an open area large enough for all of them to rest in. Gandalf moved towards the wall and leaned against it, determined to allow himself some rest.

"I'll take the first watch," Gimli said, moving towards the front of the party, "A dwarf knows caves like men and elves don't."

"I'm not stranger to the underground myself," Legolas said, standing up and stretching, "perhaps we can compare knowledge."

Gimli regarded at the elf a moment, "Come on then," the two of them went together to the edge of the path as the rest of the party began to lay down.

"You know what I miss?" Sam said, forcing his cloak into a ball to cushion his head, "a nice soft bed, you never hear anyone in the stories complaining about how hard the ground is."

Clegane was attempting to lean his head against his dog-shaped helmet, "At least underground there's no rain or snow to worry about, traveling the North, now _there's_ a pain in the ass…"

"If I could have anything right now I'd take stars overhead," Frodo said, staring around, "I've plenty of room to stretch in any manner I please, but it still feels _cramped_ in here somehow." His eyes lit up a moment, "Gandalf _look!_ " Gandalf peered forward to see a brief flash of movement below in the ravine, a pair of silver eyes, and then nothing.

"It's Gollum," Gandalf said quietly, "I'd suspected he would search for us…"

"Who or _what_ is Gollum?" Clegane asked, moving forward to look himself, but the creature was already gone.

"The one Bilbo took the ring from," Frodo explained, "a foul thing that lived far below even the goblins… it's a pity Bilbo didn't kill him when he had the chance."

"Pity?" Gandalf asked, "It was pity that stayed Bilbo's hand."

"And will this Gollum return the favor?" Clegane growled, "or will he try to kill us in our sleep? I think we should set a trap for him and be done with it."

"I could do the deed," Frodo said grimly, "I've neither fear nor pity for Gollum, he's no better than an orc, he deserves death."

"Many that live deserve death," Gandalf said grimly, "Some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them?" Seeing the hobbit's uncertain look he relented slightly, "do not be so quick to dole out death and judgement Frodo, for even the very wise cannot see all ends."

"What does it matter who deserves what?" Clegane asked irritably, "there's a threat, we ought to remove it."

 _This one knows the truth of what I am saying,_ Gandalf thought, _but he won't admit it to himself,_ "I sense, Sandor Clegane, that you have seen some of those I spoke of dying who did not deserve it?"

"I've killed people who didn't deserve it," Clegane said, his face darkening, "and left far too many alive who deserved death." He looked at Gandalf, his scars appearing somehow more gruesome in the low light. "If you're thinking I'd like to go back and "sit in judgment" over those bastards… you're damn right I would."

"Sit in judgment as the hobbits sat in judgment over you?" The Wizard replied, "it seems to me that both you and they have benefitted greatly from a showing of pity and forgiveness, you rose to their defense and saved the Ringbearer. A disaster beyond imagining was averted all because the Shirefolk decided to befriend you rather than cast you out."

Clegane had no response to that, and he glanced once more in the direction of the ravine before sighing and moving back to where he had set his things to lay down.

"There is very little hope for Gollum admittedly," Gandalf said quietly, watching Clegane go, "But hope there is, and my heart tells me that Gollum yet has some part to play before this is all over. Bilbo's pity may rule the fate of many…"

They were not disturbed again that night, and none of those who took watch saw Gollum again. The tunnels began to seem less natural as they went on, and by the end of the second day they were in tunnels that were sharp, angular, and wholly carved from the rock, no stalagmites hanging from the ceiling nor holes in the floor.

"This is the work of my kin," Gimli said, running his hand along the smooth walls. "Thousands of years and untouched by erosion or decay." They saw that the tunnel opened up ahead, and they at last came into a large open room.

"Behold," Gandalf said, causing the light to grow brighter until the whole room could be illuminated, "The city of Dwarrowdelf!" The party gasped as the pillars holding the ceiling were revealed, there were what looked to be dwellings carved high up into the walls, and the ceiling was so high that even with the light it could not be seen. They walked along the ancient streets, the party taking in the wonder of the underground city.

"Look there!" Pippin said, running towards a well alongside what might have once been a street, "I could use a fresh drink! Merry bring the rope over here and see if we can't find a bucket."

"Be careful," Gimli warned, "some of the streams within Moria are so cold they can cause harm if you drink their waters too quickly!"

"That won't be a problem," Pippin said with disappointment peering down, "it's dry." The hobbit picked up a nearby rock, realizing what he was about to do Gandalf's eyes went wide and he tried to shout, but it was too late, the stone had already left Pippin's hand and was tumbling loudly down the sides of the well.

"Fool of a Took!" he rasped, "throw yourself in next time and save us the trouble!"

"Listen!" Aragorn said, causing them to quiet. There was a tapping from somewhere below, alternating between quick bursts and slow pauses.

"That's a hammer if I've ever heard one," Gimli said.

Faramir nodded, "something is passing a message to something else… we must hurry from this place." They all began walking faster, looking around nervously and studying shadows intently.

"There is a light from in there," Gimli said as they passed a room.

"It is a dead end, we must keep-" Gandalf started, but the dwarf had already run towards it. Reluctantly he followed Gimli into the room, and the rest of the party went behind him.

"No…" Gimli whispered sadly, "NO!" It became a sorrowful wail as he knelt before what appeared to be a stone coffin set in the middle of the room.

Gandalf moved closer and his heart sank, " _Balin Fundinul Uzbadkhazaddumu_ …" he read off the coffin plate, "Here lies Balin, Son of Fundin, Lord of Moria…"

"So he is truly dead then," Frodo said quietly.

There was a shuffling sound from outside and a strange squawking sound. Faramir ran out and then shouted with alarm as a number of black arrows flew by his head. He ran back inside the door and Aragorn pushed it shut before grabbing a discarded axe and slamming it across the door as a makeshift bar.

"That won't hold," Faramir gasped, "They've got a cave troll!"

"What the hell's a cave troll?" Clegane asked, but his question was answered as a massive hammer splintered the wood on the bottom part of the door. A massive grey hand groped inward, with lightning speed Legolas drew his bow and loosed an arrow at it, but it glanced off with a sound like steel striking stone.

Clegane, who had donned his helmet, drew his sword and ran forward, hoisting it up with both hands he forced it down with all his might onto the hand, causing a pained scream outside the door as black blood oozed up around the wound. The hand withdrew quickly, causing Clegane to stagger and fall backward. Faramir helped him up as the rest of the party drew their weapons.

"Let them come!" Gimli roared, standing atop the coffin, "there is at least one dwarf in Moria that still draws breath!"

The door exploded inward as the hammer came down on it again, and a number of goblins rushed into the room, chattering and crying out excitedly at the sight of their prey. Arrows flew from Legolas' bow, arcing between Clegane, Aragorn, and Faramir who were fighting in a close formation. Gimli's axe came down into the sudden throng with wild abandon, causing the orcs to fly into the air.

"Stay back and stay together!" He shouted to the hobbits, who were all holding their swords nervously, Sting glowing blue. He drew his own blade and with a battle cry moved forward to join his companions, but paused as the troll slowly moved into the room. It roared at them all angrily, causing everyone, even the orcs, to look up at it. The troll hefted the hammer and brought it down towards Gimli, who dove out of the way as the coffin was smashed to rubble.

 _In such an enclosed space we have little chance of slaying such a creature,_ he thought grimly, but he moved towards the beast anyway, _If I could strike at it's underbelly perhaps-_

The troll looked suddenly towards the hobbits and with a grunt walked forward and held the hammer high. They screamed and tried to scatter but Frodo tripped and fell, leaving him exposed to the attack. _No!_ Gandalf thought in a panic.

Suddenly Faramir appeared at it's side and stabbed right under the rib cage, causing it to drop the hammer with a thud as it bellowed angrily. It turned to swing at Faramir but Gimli leapt again over the ruins of the coffin, bringing his axe down deep into the troll's flesh. It screamed a final time before Legolas turned and shot a pair of arrows at the back of it's skull, this time they landed true and it fell, shaking the ground.

Gandalf's relief was short lived as a large orc chieftain suddenly ran past Aragorn and Clegane, ducking nimbly underneath each of their attacks. Raising a spear he drove the point down into Frodo's chest, causing the hobbit to cry out in pain. The orc raised the spear again, but before he could bring it down Clegane brought his sword through the shaft, cleaving the weapon in two.

"Get the fuck away from him!" Clegane shouted. The orc snarled and drew a curved sword at it's waist, with surprising speed it swung the blade around at Clegane's side where it made contact with a shallow metallic noise before glancing off the side of his thick armor. The orc's head jerked back up and Clegane grinned savagely as he stabbed through it's chest, dropping it to the floor.

Looking around Gandalf could see the remaining orcs had fled, and he hurried to Frodo's side. The rest of the party began to crowd around him but waved them back as Frodo sucked in air.

"Let me see the wound," Aragorn said, leaning over to tear Frodo's jacket, but rather than blood and rent flesh a silver sheen was revealed.

"A mithril coat," Gimli said with wonder, "your uncle's no doubt?"

"H-He thought I would need it more than he would," Frodo said, standing up uncertainly.

"Well he wasn't wrong," Clegane said, relief evident in his voice.

"If we are all whole then we must be away," Gandalf said, "Come!" he ran to the door of the tomb and back into the open air of the underground city. Most of the party followed him without protest, but looking back he saw that Clegane and Legolas were forcibly dragging Gimli away from the grave of his cousin, grief and anger still evident on the dwarf's face. After a moment he gestured them away and stood on his own, though a few tears still lingered.

He felt something then, a great malice from somewhere below. The room began to grow hot and a pale orange light appeared far down one of the long streetways. The others felt it too, and looked around anxiously. _No,_ he thought, a shiver going down his spine in spite of the heat, _it cannot be…_

"Swords are of no more use now," Gandalf said in despair, "Our path through the Dwarrowdelf ends with a pair of stone doors, you will go beyond them and I will stay back and try to seal the gates."

For once there were no questions or protests as they ran behind him. They soon came to the doors and as they passed through Faramir and Aragorn each took a side as they pushed them shut.

"Go now, go to the right and down and you will come to the Bridge of Khazad Dum!" Gandalf shouted, "I will meet you there!"

As they passed out of sight he turned back to the gates and held his staff high, muttering words of power and invoking the Far West and those that dwelt there. Runes appeared on the door, glowing and lighting his face. He grimaced and poured more of his power into them, causing them to rise until they were nearly white hot.

On the other side of the gate he felt the thing's presence, _Durin's Bane,_ he thought, _though in ages past you no doubt had a darker and more terrible name._ The thing knew it had been observed now, and he felt it's foul touch upon his locking runes. _None of the enemy's lesser servants may break that…_

There was a crack like thunder and the first of the runes seemed to wither. Gandalf's eyes went wide as tendrils of flame licked the crack of the door. He poured more of his power into the second rune, hoping it would hold, but the door buckled outward and it shattered, revealing a mass of fire and shadow.

 _A Balrog of Morgoth,_ he thought, fear filling him. He raised his staff a final time and left one last rune upon the door, not to stop the thing this time, but to slow it as he fled.

 **A/N: The short conversation about weapon names is inspired by one I had in PMs with Red Dead Redeemer**

 **Jackalope89 - Cersei's been pretty thoroughly beaten down by the world, she's had a number of people take a crack at making her a better person by this point and some of the lessons are starting, ever so slowly, to take root.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - The whole "20 men" thing has already been debated to death by people that I suspect know more about medieval history and tactics than either of us, let's just write it off as a fantasy story ;)**

 **Guest - I believe people have the capacity to change under very particular circumstances, mostly involving stressful situations or crisis that make it nearly impossible to go forward with your current worldview. You are right though, Cersei will find those things difficult to overcome, especially in Middle Earth where beings like the Witch King will toy with your psyche quite cruelly.**

 **Quelthias - glad you liked it, Galadriel's appearance is supposed to be a period of rest and recovery for the fellowship, I think that for Cersei she would try as best she could to fill a similar role in her own journey.**


	96. XCIII The Hound

**XCIII**

 **The Hound**

They ran through the tunnels until they came to the staircases Gandalf had mentioned, "To the right and down!" Aragorn called, "hurry!" Clegane lagged behind, hoping to see some sign of the Wizard, as Merry Stumbled he grasped him by the cuff and helped him back up. From somewhere behind the walls of the tunnel they were in drumbeats began to echo. As the chamber opened up slightly they slowed a bit as they saw they were not yet being actively pursued.

Aragorn produced a torch from somewhere and held it in front of him. He broke another torch from an ancient brazier and handed it back, "Clegane, get another light going!"

He shifted uncomfortably, "I can't, I need my sword arm ready…"

Aragorn looked at him curiously, but Faramir cut him off before he could say anything else, "I will take it," Aragorn shrugged and leaned over, lighting it for him. Clegane involuntarily flinched back a bit, but followed as the party moved forward, Faramir now lagging towards the rear with him.

"Clegane…" Faramir began hesitantly. He sighed, "There was a man I knew named Berethor who took an arrow to the neck while we were on a ranging. It was my fault, I was sure we hadn't been seen and it led me to be too bold by half."

"Dead then?" Clegane grunted as they walked briskly through the dark.

"No," Faramir replied, "nearest thing I ever saw, he must have bled enough for four men, but he would not close his eyes and he would not die."

"Good for him," Sandor mumbled back, "but I don't see what that has to do with me."

"After he recovered he was not the same," Faramir continued, "Certain sounds would frighten him unduly, he would not hunt with others, and he was plagued by nightmares…" He paused a moment, "You said your brother gave you those scars when he pushed you into the fire, I don't think all the scars are on the outside"

"I don't like fire," Clegane growled, "let that be the end of it."

The drums were growing louder, and from somewhere farther ahead in the tunnel they heard movement. They stopped a moment as Aragorn seemed unsure of what to do.

"That is the way we must go isn't it?" Gimli asked quietly, "if the enemy holds the bridge of Khazad Dum… it is long and narrow, there would be little chance of taking it from them."

"We've got to keep moving," Aragorn said finally, "the bridge is the only way out, if it comes to that… Legolas, Faramir," he said gesturing to each of them, "you will cover Clegane, Gimli, and myself as we move across… as one of us falls we will step over him and continue until the other side is reached."

"This is all my fault," Pippin said miserably, "if I'd never thrown that rock…"

"Such thoughts will do you no good now," Aragorn said as they began moving again, "if it helps ease your conscious they were probably searching for us for some time.

At the end of the tunnel they found themselves in a wide open chamber with a series of staircases descending down into the darkness. Far away on the far side of the room there were a few pinpricks of light.

 _Torches,_ Clegane thought sourly, _someone_ is _on the far side of the bridge._ Suddenly the ground shook and a booming noise came from behind them.

"Gandalf!" Frodo cried out. There was an orange glow starting in the hallway behind them, and the same sense of fear from earlier returned.

"Down the stairs!" Aragorn commanded, "If another tremor comes they may fall!" They went together down each of wide staircases, their torchlights barely illuminating the dark in front of them until they came near the bottom. As soon as the orange glow lit the platform at the bottom the hobbits cried out in terror, for at least a dozen orcs waited for them. As they saw one another the two parties drew their weapons

"Stop!" A gruff voice shouted, and the orcs fell back a moment. A new orc stepped into the torchlight, he stood above the others and wore a uniform set of armor rather than the patchwork the others had, his skin was a pale green color a shade lighter than his fellows. "Let's 'ave a word."

"I will treat with no orc!" Legolas sneered, pulling back his bowstring.

"Fine then," the orc chuckled, "die like rats, see if I care."

"You're not from Moria," Faramir said slowly, "you're an orc of Minas Morgul if I've ever seen one. What business do you have here?"

"And you're captain Faramir of the rangers of Ithilien," the orc said, a toothy grin coming over his face, "Oh I'd know you anywhere, we pass around drawings of you, big things comin' to whoever brings in _your_ head." Seeing Faramir's look he chuckled, "Not what I'm here for today of course… no I think we're both here on the same business." The room was rocked by another tremor and at the top of the staircases the orange glow grew brighter, the orcs chattered excitedly and the lead orc's grin faltered.

"You wanted a word," Aragorn shouted, holding his sword in front of him, "out with it!"

" _Ghash!"_ one of the goblins shouted, and the rest started chanting quietly with it, _"ghash! ghash!"_

"That means fire," The orc explained, "the thing you fools woke up is heading this way and it doesn't care for outsiders. Now we could fight it out here, maybe you win, maybe we win, but it don't matter if _it_ comes down here does it?" He pointed at the hobbits, "the boss is lookin' for halflings, seems you've got four of 'em… How's about I take them and we all leave here alive?"

"We're not giving them up!" Clegane growled.

The orc shrugged, "Fine then, I wanted to do this the easy way… BOYS!" there was a mocking laughter from behind them. Clegane looked back at the edge of the column to see an arm grasp for purchase, and then another and another.

"They're climbing up the sides!" He shouted, "We're surrounded!" the orcs already on the platform moved towards them, the pale one laughing as he fell back. He brought his sword down on the first orc to reach him, nearly cleaving the creature in two, armor and all. He jerked it free and moved backwards towards Aragorn and Gimli. Legolas had taken the high ground above on the staircase, and was picking his shots carefully, few of the orcs had moved toward him yet, but Faramir was trying to protect the hobbits as they moved back in that direction.

"Got ya!" the orc's voice called out, Clegane's eyes widened in alarm as he saw that the lead orc had tackled Frodo from behind. "Get the rope you squealers, the rope!" he shouted as a pair of goblins ran to him and pinned Frodo's hands behind him. Clegane growled angrily and moved away from the others, pursuing the pair of orcs that carried the hobbit bound.

"Get 'em back there with the others!" the leader shouted, pointing for the orcs that now held Frodo bound to carry him back over the bridge. A pair grabbed his squirming form, one by his arms, the other by his legs, and the small detachment of the orcs shuffled over the bridge.

"Fly you fools!" Gandalf's voice rang out, and the battle briefly paused to see Gandalf running down the staircase towards them, but it resumed almost as quickly as it had stopped as the Wizard drew his own sword and swiftly decapitated a goblin that tried to rush up at Legolas.

There was a final tremor and then a great explosion from above, causing a number of molten rocks to fly from the entrance to the chamber out into the chasm. _What in the name of the gods is-_ His thoughts came to a halt as he saw the thing that now peered down at them from the top of the room.

At first he'd thought it was just a bright blaze, but it took shape and form, first a hideous horned skull, then a set of batlike wings cloaked in swirling flame. It held a whip made of living fire in it's clawed hand, and smoke rose from it's burning visage. A pair of red eyes peered down at him and in that moment he knew the thing knew his fear, knew it and _craved_ it. It roared and the fiery whip cracked down on one of the staircases, coating it in fire as the thing took the first step down towards them.

The sounds of the battle and the orc-cries fell away as he stared up at it, _Please gods no,_ he thought, _not this…_ he was aware of a wet feeling moving down his leg and there were dark spots on the edge of his vision as his head grew light.

Suddenly Aragorn was in front of him, he was shouting something but Clegane only caught part of it, _Frodo! … The ring!_ The Wizard was there too, looking from the fire to the bridge, Clegane was barely aware of their words as he turned his head, looking across the chasm where he noticed a small pinprick of light on the other end. _The way out..._

He realized that he was screaming madly as he moved towards the bridge, his sword seemed weightless as he hacked and slashed at the orcs in his path, felling them one after another. A drumming sound filled his ears and he realized it was his own heartbeat as he forced one foot in front of the other, his entire world became that tiny pinprick of light that meant _escape._

The orcs tried to block his way, but he refused to let himself be slowed as brought all of his strength and speed to bear in a flurry of strikes that sent limbs and bodies flying through the air and into the abyss. Suddenly he found himself before the orc leader, who had drawn his own blade and parried the strike, sending his sword flying out of his hand and into the dark chasm. The orc grinned and held the blade in front of him, but feeling the heat at his back Sandor grabbed the blade with his bare hand, not even feeling the edged steel cutting into his skin. With a jerk he ripped the orc's sword away and threw it into the chasm after his own. Before the orc could react he swung his arm wide, his steel clade forearm catching it across the face. There was a high pitched scream as the orc chieftain tumbled off of the bridge.

There was another roar from the burning horror behind him and he found himself moving forward again, his shadow sillhoutted on the far wall as the thing's light filled the room. The orcs were fleeing now rather than trying to fight him, _Do not look back,_ he thought as he began to run in earnest, _DO NOT LOOK BACK!_

His heart leapt with joy as he reached the far side of the chasm and he erupted into mad laughter as he looked up at the exit, the light of the sun now shining down on his face.

"Clegane!" Frodo shouted from somewhere above. Sandor realized that the pair of orcs carrying the hobbit were scurrying up the path towards the exit. Suddenly an arrow flew over his head and caught the first orc in in the side, causing it to fall.

"Get to Frodo!" Legolas' voice rang out behind him as he ran towards the hobbit. Without missing a step he scooped Frodo up and tossed him over his shoulder. A moment later he felt a cool breeze as he stepped outside of the mountain and into the open air. The cave exit opened up into a wide hill, the nearest trees perhaps a few hundred yards away. He sprinted for the cover of the tree line, forcing each ragged breath in and out.

"The others!" Frodo shouted on his shoulder, "what about the others?"

"We've got to get away from that _thing_ " Sandor screamed back as he kept moving, but he felt the weight of his flight starting to take it's toll on him. He barely made it another dozen paces before stumbling, causing Frodo to hit the ground. He felt bile rising in his throat and he vomited on the ground as his limbs started to shake. He began to feel pain coming from wounds he didn't remember taking, looking at his hand he realized for the first time how deep the cut was from when he'd taken the orc's sword. As he tried to stand again he noticed at least two arrows stuck in his armor just below his right shoulder, from the shooting pain he felt as he moved his arm at least one of them had gone all the way through and pierced his skin.

He struggled back to his feet and pulled a knife from his belt, leaning over to cut the hobbit's bonds. Frodo rubbed his wrists a moment and his eyes went wide, "Sting! I've dropped my uncle's sword."

"I lost mine too," Sandor growled as he staggered forward, "come on."

"It was more than just a sword," Frodo muttered, looking back at the cave, "we've got to go back for the others!"

"They're dead," Clegane said firmly, and for perhaps the first time since childhood he actually felt sorrow as tears went down his face, "the fire… gods the fire…"

"I'm going back," Frodo said as he began walking back up the hill towards the cave, "I have to know."

"Stop," Clegane growled, blinking the tears away. Unconsciously his fingers tightened around the knife, "you can't take the Ring back there! If _they_ get their hands on it then it was all for nothing!"

"The ring is my burden to carry!" Frodo shouted angrily, "I know well what will happen if the enemy takes it, but I will not abandon my friends!"

"And let their deaths be for nothing?" He yelled back, towering over the hobbit, "You're not _brave_ Baggins, you're foolish." Frodo's hand was inching towards the ring now, clutching it absently as he looked at Clegane. The hobbit's face darkened and Frodo turned defiantly and began walking back towards the mountain.

He felt his grip on the knife tighten, _the fool will damn us all,_ he thought, stepping forward, _I have to take it from him!_ Before he could go much further a flicker of movement at the mouth of the cave caught his eye and he saw Aragorn emerge, followed by the other three hobbits, then finally Faramir, Gimli, and Legolas. Sheathing the knife without a thought he ran forward with Frodo.

"There they are!" Aragorn called, and the party ran down to them, as they approached Clegane saw shock and sadness on their faces. As they approached Aragorn held out the small blade that Clegane recognized as Frodo's, the hobbit took it excitedly but then looked around at the group.

"Where is Gandalf?" Frodo asked uncertainly.

"He… he fell," Gimli said miserably.

"He challenged the Balrog on the bridge so that we could escape," Legolas said quietly, "he broke the bridge and they both fell below."

Frodo sank to his knees, "Gandalf is dead…" the other hobbits joined him, their crying and wailing echoing over the hills.

"We must keep moving," Aragorn said bitterly, "our pursuers will be upon us by nightfall."

"What was our path?" Faramir asked, fighting to keep his own eyes dry.

"The Golden Wood of Lothlorien," Aragorn replied, "we will find rest and refuge there."

"We need a moment of rest and refuge _now_ ," Faramir said, gesturing to the hobbits.

Aragorn looked at them, and then at Clegane, "A few minutes to treat our wounds, Clegane, get that armor off, you look like death itself."

"There's worse things for a fighting man to look like," he grumbled, but in truth he knew he needed his wounds bandaged, his hand throbbed as blood ran down it and a dull ache had set in the muscles around where he'd taken the arrow.

A short time later he was propped against a rock, his armor neatly piled nearby. Aragorn was rubbing a poultice into the wound on his shoulder before placing bandages over it. The rest of the fellowship watched on morosely, none dared speak. He noticed Frodo close to them.

"Baggins," he muttered, catching the hobbit's attention, "I'm sorry for what I said earlier… you're plenty brave, a damn sight more than I was back there." Frodo just nodded and went back to staring at the ground.

"You did well enough yourself Clegane," Faramir said, as Aragorn finishing the bandage, "if it wasn't for you clearing the bridge we never would have made it out of there, you fought like a man possessed!"

"He's right," Aragorn said, standing up and extending a hand, "you were a terror down there."

"Thanks," he muttered as he took Aragorn's hand and stood up, getting his bearings. He reached for his armor and slid his mail on before beginning with the vambraces. A few moments later the party was on the move again, heading East towards the trees.

His eyes caught Frodo a moment, the hobbit's face was still downcast. _I only would have carried it for him until he came to his senses,_ he assured himself, _maybe a day or two at most to keep him moving…_ but the more he thought about it the more he wondered about the hobbit's resolve.

 _If he should fail…_ Images of King's Landing and the Riverlands burning flashed through his mind, _it would be like the Sack of King's Landing the world over._ A frown came over his face, _if Frodo falters again someone stronger will need to carry the ring forward..._

 **A/N: Some people have reminded me here and elsewhere that we are nearing the 100th chapter, as a sort of celebration I'm working on an omake which will show us what happened back in Westeros. I hope to have it ready for the big 100.**

 **Quelthias - Sandor and Cersei will definitely have a few things to say to one another in Lorien.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - well they've got the rest of the Westerlands army back there with Tywin to hold the choke point, until the Nazgul really push it they should be okay.**

 **Cyrisist001 - all right I'll be more careful in the future regarding weapon physics, I'll go edit the chapter a bit later and see about giving the orc leather armor instead.**

 **Eduard Kassel - one of the things I think makes a good story is well developed side characters, so I have a lot running around. Glad you enjoyed them.**

 **Window Girl - well in the Silmarillion it describes how each of the children of Iluvitar were given "gifts." The elves got immortality and beauty, men got death, which sounds crappy at first but it's explained as a "detachment" from the fate of Middle Earth that ultimately allows the race of men to choose their own fates apart from what is ordained in Arda. I know it's a bit of a stretch but I figured that meant Cersei was probably free of Maggie's prophecy in Middle Earth, though as Galadriel said the true nature of mortality is still something that even the Valar themselves don't completely understand.. If you want to read more about it you can look up "gift of men" on various Tolkien fansites.**


	97. XCIV The Imp

**XCIV**

 **The Imp**

Tyrion walked through the camp outside of Edoras, Shagga and Lyle Crakehall following shortly behind him. While the camp had initially been haphazardly thrown up in stages as each group of riders had arrived he and Eowyn had assured it was now neat and orderly, a series of rows allowing men and horses to walk easily between tents. In the center of the encampment was a much larger tent, easily big enough to house a mummer's show. It was here that Eowyn held her war councils, though when he and his retainers entered she was alone, looking over a map of Rohan.

"You told Ser Daven to postpone his departure again," Tyrion said, startling her and causing her to look up.

"I cannot allow the Wold to be razed until all riders have come from there," She said defensively, "once they hear of what we plan to do to their lands they will refuse to answer our call."

"And what if they hear that their homes are to be burned while they are already in the army?" Tyrion asked impatiently, "would that be better?" She glared at him and he continued, "It is no easy thing to sacrifice your countrymen's lands and livelihoods, but it must be done."

Her shoulders sagged, "I will permit Ser Daven's force to leave tomorrow morning." She begrudgingly reached down to the map and moved a small token towards the Wold and sighed, "We have defeated the men of Rhun in the past, but never have we been forced to burn our own fields before them."

"There wasn't a mad Wizard and an army of orcs to your west during those wars I'd wager," Crakehall grunted, but seeing a glare from Tyrion he silenced again.

"No," Eowyn said bitterly, "there wasn't."

"Shagga's people are always outnumbered by the Andal," Shagga muttered quietly, "but the First Men endure. The people of Rohan are strong, they will endure too."

Eowyn smiled at that, "Thank you Shagga, I think you are right… we will endure."

Shagga laughed suddenly, "Shagga came here for glory, but this all became…" he gestured with his hand, at a loss for words, "bigger, it got too big too fast. Now Shagga is here until the end, whether it is good or bad."

"I know the feeling," Crakehall said, though his expression was far less jovial, "Sometimes I wish I'd let my brother Merlon go with you to Minas Morgul, I could be back in Crakehall eating fresh crab every night with a nice wine and a pretty serving girl while _he_ dealt with all of this madness."

"I've seen your brother in tournaments," Tyrion said quietly, "a decent swordsman… Not half as good as you are though, is he?"

"Maybe not," Crakehall replied, "what's your point?"

"Getting that ring off my finger back in Minas Tirith was a near thing, if Merlon had been there… who can say how that would have changed things." He paused, thinking, "There have been a lot of near things lately," he said, "near things that seemed to end up for the better only on account of luck or divine intervention."

"You're saying we've got the Gods on our side?" Crakehall asked, "Every knight and lord I've ever heard of has said something similar."

"All I know is that even betting with the best odds possible a gambler will inevitably come up with a loss at some point, and we've been betting with terrible odds and we keep coming up with wins." He looked around the room at the three of them, "I think that we are where we are _meant_ to be." They were all quiet a moment, digesting the implications of his words.

Finally Eowyn spoke again, "Unless the Valar will march out of the uttermost West to fight this war for us I will win it as my people always have, with spear and sword."

"I didn't mean to counsel against such, only to provide some words of hope in these dark times," Tyrion said, "and speaking of that we must decide how to plan for my brother's arrival."

"His army will march on Isengard from the South, ours from the East, what more is there to plan?" She asked, glancing again at the map.

"Where is the army of Isengard now?" Tyrion asked.

"In Isengard of course," she replied irritably, "we have met their forces in the field and they have withdrawn behind their walls save for raids and harassment of our people."

"There is one place where they maintain a garrison outside of the ring of Saruman," Tyrion said, "The Fords of Isen, the only reliable crossing point of the River Isen outside of the one the tower itself gaurds."

"What good does it do us to take it?" Eowyn asked, "When your brother's army approaches we can simply march upriver on opposite banks."

"Perhaps," Tyrion replied, "but that would still leave the garrison at our back. When the time comes we will need to crush the enemy between us."

She nodded, "Reasonable enough. What course of action do you suggest?"

"Take the army of Rohan within a dozen or so miles of the Ford," he began, "from there you will be able to respond to calls for aid from anywhere in Rohan the Wizard might strike and you will still be close enough to join with the Lannister army when it arrives."

"And what about you?" she asked, "what if an advance force comes from the East? What if Kurgath the Terrible and his Easterlings come in the winter instead of the Spring?"

"Leave me Bronn and a thousand men and I can find a way to hold of anything short of the main force."

"I may have need of Bronn near the front lines," Eowyn said uncertainly, "he has proven himself an able man and one of the few I could rely upon in such uncertain times."

"Bronn's loyalty begins and ends with the clink of a coin," Tyrion said impatiently, "do not allow his familiarity with us to disguise that fact."

"It is _my_ coin that pays him," Eowyn said, crossing her arms, "he will fight where _I_ command."

"Fair enough," Tyrion admitted, "What if I gave you Crakehall and Shagga in exchange?"

"Now hold on a minute-" Crakehall began but they were interrupted by Bronn himself, who entered the tent hurriedly.

"Lord Tyrion, Lady Eowyn," he began in a flustered tone, "a raven has come for the two of you."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, "From who?"

"He… he wouldn't say," Bronn said haltingly.

"An anonymous letter then?" Crakehall asked, "Who in the seven hells would send-"

"I think it would be better if you just saw it for yourself," Bronn said quickly, "I had Daven bring it down to the camp."

"Bronn I'm a little confused as to why you didn't just bring the letter to me yourself-" Tyrion began.

"Just come the hell outside," Bronn said with exasperation. He and Eowyn looked at one another for a moment before getting up and following the mercenary out of the tent. As they entered the late afternoon sun they saw Daven standing there, looking uncomfortable as a large black raven sat perched upon his shoulder.

Just when he was about to ask where the letter was a rough and raspy voice called out, "Are you Tyrion Lannister and Eowyn of the house of Theoden?"

Tyrion blinked a moment, "Did… Did the raven just talk?"

The raven tilted it's head sideways, "Did I stutter? Take me to Eowyn and Tyrion! I'm through talking to half-wits and servants!"

"Be careful Lady Eowyn," Daven shouted, leaning his head away from the bird on his shoulder, "this creature is strange, it would suffer no mortal hand to touch it!"

"When you held out a hand for me to perch on it was as black as night from dirt and grime!" The bird cawed, flapping it's wings.

"I am Lady Eowyn," she said from his side stepping forward, "and this is Lord Tyrion Lannister," she said gesturing to him, "are you a raven of the Lonely Mountain?"

The raven perked up suddenly, sitting upright as it's chest puffed out, "My Lady, I am Rerir, of the Ravenshill Ravens." He put a wing in front of himself as he slowly made a bow, "I come on behalf of King Dain II Ironfoot, King Under the Mountain and lord of Iron Hills! Know that your call for aid and your gift have been received!"

Eowyn's brow furrowed, "My _gift_?"

"The crown of Helm Hammerhand," Rerir explained, "a friend of the dwarves of old!"

"So the crown of Helm Hammerhand reached the dwarves?" She said in a low voice looking down at Tyrion.

"Indeed Lady Eowyn!" The raven exclaimed, "King Dain has heard of the march of his longtime foes in Rhun, he knows that it is by your people's suffering that his own land would be spared. He has declared that if the blood of Rohan is to be spilled it will mix with that of Durin's kin."

"What does that mean exactly?" Tyrion asked, hoping to pull Eowyn's gaze away from himself.

"It means the insults and demands of the lord of Mordor are tolerated no longer!" the raven said proudly, "soon the Longbeards will march with a force that would make Angband itself tremble and despair!"

"When will they arrive?" Tyrion asked excitedly, "they will have food, shelter, whatever they need!"

"In a few months perhaps," the raven replied, "it is a long march, and one not often traveled by Dain's people."

Tyrion's heart sank, "what of his numbers?"

The raven paused, "It is uncertain yet. As the march will be long so was the flight, there were many concerned I would be ensnared by the orcs of Mirkwood or the sorcery of the elven witch of the golden wood. It is a dangerous journey even for an army, only those dwarves who volunteer to come will march south."

"It would seem that the old bonds of friendship still hold," Eowyn said quietly, "even a single dwarf would be better than nothing in such dark times."

Tyrion thought a moment, "Rerir your name was?" The raven bobbed his head in an approximation of a "yes" and Tyrion continued, "Will you stay here or return to Dain?"

"It matters little," Rerir replied, "as I said the journey was long and dangerous. The dwarves of Erebor will come whether I return or not."

"Might you stay in our service then?" Tyrion asked, "A set of eyes above a battlefield could prove quite useful to us."

The raven seemed to consider it, "I could be persuaded to stay if certain _comforts_ were provided."

"Could someone else carry it?" Daven said, still looking uncomfortable, "A talking bird is just… unnatural."

Rerir glared at him a moment, "A man lecturing a bird on what's unnatural? I'll have to tell my nestlings about that when I return home!" The bird hopped a little closer to Daven's face, causing him to flinch slightly, "From what I've seen you new men have ravens who carry your scribblings, smarter than some I suppose, but still mute fools… I suppose a nest and a diet similar to what they get should suffice, though I'll suffer none of them to roost with me!"

"I'll be sure to tell the Maester to clear you your own rook," Tyrion replied, still somewhat awed. "Daven, take our guest to the rookery and see that his… accommodations are up to standard."

"As you wish," Daven said, never taking his eyes off the bird perched on his shoulder. He slowly turned around and began a slow walk back towards the city.

As soon as Daven was gone Eowyn turned to face him, "When did you send the crown?"

"Two nights after we first discussed it," Tyrion replied, "I knew by the time you realized the necessity of doing so it would be too late to call for aid from such a faraway kingdom."

She glared down at him a moment, "Tyrion Lannister you have gone against my commands, this is treason."

"Hang me then," he said firmly, "but know I was right to do what I did."

There was a tense silence as they all watched her, "It is not Tyrion Lannister who rules Rohan," she said finally, "disobey me again and I will have you banished." She looked to Bronn, "Sellsword," she said quietly, "was it you who stole the crown from it's safe?"

Bronn seemed uncomfortable but he nodded, "Yes, I did it at Lord Tyrion's command."

She frowned, "The sellsword will stay with you Lord Tyrion. My own guards will accompany me to the Fords."

"Lady Eowyn-" Tyrion began uncomfortably.

She paused and sighed, "Do not go against my commands again Lord Tyrion," she said in a tired voice, "You have been a good friend and ally to me, but my word must be the highest law of Rohan until my uncle recovers or my brother returns."

"I understand," he said.

A small smile came over her face, "I can't say I'm _that_ angry with you, any good news at all seems cause for celebration these days."

"Then let's celebrate!" He said, gesturing around, "I'll have mead and mutton brought down from Medusheld and-"

" _Your_ celebrations go too long and too late Tyrion Lannister," she replied rolling her eyes. She stared up at Medusheld a moment, the golden roof shining at the top of Edoras in the sun, "I have a request… no, a command."

"Anything Lady Eowyn," he replied.

"Go with Daven yourself," she said, "see the Undeeps and make certain they are truly indefensible. We owe the people of Rohan that much at least"

He considered it a moment, _There is no harm in letting Hama have the run of the city for a week or two,_ "As you command then," he said bowing, "I will return to Edoras and prepare for my departure." He turned to leave and signaled for Shagga, Crakehall, and Bronn to follow him.

"Are we going with you then Lord Tyrion?" Crakehall asked as they walked back towards the city.

"I doubt there is to be much fighting on the banks of the Anduin, not yet anyway," Tyrion replied, "but if you're not going with Lady Eowyn then I'm not leaving you two alone in the city."

"Do you think Shagga a child?" the clansman asked indignantly.

"I turned my back on you two once and the royal treasury had to pay for a new barn," Tyrion said tersely, "I don't want to come back to find a smoldering ruin where Edoras used to be."

They reached Medusheld and walked inside. It was quieter than usual, most of the men and servants were in the camps below.

"Well the barn incident was really a matter of poor luck Lord Tyrion," Crakehall explained, "We'd gotten back to the farmhouse with the two ladies that we'd been escorting when an argument arose regarding where everyone would spend the evening-"

"And a lantern was knocked over I know," Tyrion said, rolling his eyes.

Crakehall was about to say something else when Bronn interrupted him, "I'm not listening to this story again," he looked down at Tyrion, "I'm getting something to eat, you hungry?"

"Famished," he replied, following Bronn towards the kitchens, "If we're going north with Daven I could use a decent meal before we're stuck eating hardtack and wild game every night."

"Well you were going on about destiny earlier," Bronn said with a grin, "maybe we're _destined,_ to eat that garbage."

"Maybe," he said absently, _destiny…_ he thought, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. _One must be careful in Middle Earth, great things creep up on you…_

 **A/N: Review responses are in the next chapter**


	98. Omake: A Roar Unheard I

**Omake: A Roar Unheard I**

 **The Young Wolf**

 _You are a knight of summer Jaime Lannister… and winter is coming…_ the Night's King himself stood before the Kingslayer, uttering the Stark words as darkness consumed the world.

"Lord Stark!"

Robb Stark awoke with a gasp, the dream had been as vivid as any of the dreams he'd had of running in Grey Wind's skin. In spite of his sleep he shaken and tired, and he took a moment to look around him to make sure he truly was in Westeros, not some far off land of "Middle Earth."

"Your grace?" it was Dacey Mormont, one of his sworn swords. She seemed taken aback at his appearance, "Are you well?"

"I'm fine Dacey," he said, breathing in deeply, "Just a bad dream is all… What news do you have?"

"The Kingslayer!" she exclaimed, "He's escaped!"

" _What!?"_ He nearly shouted, "He's only been in captivity a day!" Robb stood up out of bed. He noticed Dacey eyeing him in his smallclothes and sighed irritably before grabbing his shirt. "How did this happen? Who watched him?"

"The guards said he did something to cause a bright flash that blinded them, when they could see again he'd left his cage," she shivered, "They said… they said that he did so without unlocking the door. The other prisoners are gone too, he must have freed them. The Greatjon is leading a search now."

Robb finished getting dressed and walked with her out of the tent, it didn't take them long to reach the rough iron cage that they'd kept Jaime Lannister in. A number of men were standing about, there were fearful whispers from the men as he approached. He was shocked to see that the door was still locked, he moved forward and rattled the bars himself, trying to open the door. It wouldn't budge.

"A fine way to start out my reign as king in the North," he muttered, "the king who lost the kingslayer."

"Robb!" He turned to see his mother, holding her dress up as she ran towards him. "What has happened?"

"The Kingslayer used dark sorcery to escape!" one of the men shouted, "There was a flash and he was gone with all the prisoners!" another agreed.

"It was no magic!" Robb shouted firmly, circling around. He felt odd trying to calm them, most were nearly double his age, but he continued anyway, "Lannisters are treacherous, this was a mere trick!" In truth he wasn't so sure himself, but the men were already frightened of the Kingslayer without thinking he was some manner of magician as well as a deadly swordsman.

Day broke several hours later, and the Greatjon returned with his riders, looking tired and afraid. Robb felt disappointment himself as he saw Jaime Lannister wasn't with them, and then confusion as he saw several of the army's scouts behind Umber.

"It's worse than we thought," the Greatjon said, dismounting from his horse, "Not only did the Lannisters somehow spirit away Jaime their army has left Riverrun!"

"Isn't that good?" His mother asked, looking between them, "the siege is lifted!"

"No," Robb said, his face pale, "it means we don't know where their army is! Get everyone formed up! I want palisades put up around this camp _now!_ " He pointed at the woods, "Scouts, find out if they are marching on us! I won't be taken unaware again."

As men ran to carry his orders the camp became a flurry of activity. He and his mother retreated to the center, Grey Wind, who had been trailing behind him, now moved to his side, his hairs bristling as he noticed the men preparing for battle. _Blood…_ a thought entered his mind, _soon…_ He shook his head and blinked a few times, such thoughts had become more common on the campaign trail. He had thought of speaking to a maester about them, but while at war he wanted to give no sign of being troubled in any way.

Hours passed as they waited tensely for an attack. Robb was pleased with how quickly his men had erected makeshift defenses, the long wooden spikes planted in the ground would at the very least slow the infamous Lannister cavalry charges, and he felt confident that the men would hold long enough for a counterattack.

Finally the scouts returned again, "Lord Robb," the first one began, "We've circled several times… there is no sign of the enemy."

Robb stood in silence a moment, "Make a wider sweep," he said, "if we cannot see any sign of the Lannisters by then we will march for Riverrun." He paused a moment, "Send a pair of riders back to find news of Roose Bolton's force, tell the leech lord to send a raven to Riverrun to tell us of his whereabouts."

….

 **The Onion Knight**

Ser Davos Seaworth hurried up the stairs to the chamber of the Painted Table where Lord Stannis had called a council of his bannermen. As he entered he saw that the Red Lady, Melisandre of Asshai, was present, along with Maester Cressen and a number of others. The room itself was filled with a table carved in the likeness of Westeros, with Stannis Baratheon himself seated at the head near Dorne. He saw a vacant seat near the Westerlands and his eyes briefly met his lord's. Stannis gave a slight nod and he moved to take the empty seat.

"Loyal knights and lords," Stannis began, standing up. "As you know I have declared myself the true King of the Seven Kingdoms, as has my brother Renly, and the bastard Joffrey Waters. I have called you here because the situation has changed."

Murmurs rose around the room, _Stannis should be king,_ Davos thought, _he has honor, he is just… Renly is a mere upstart._

"What has happened? Has Renly renounced his claim?" Axell Florent asked.

"No. Robert's supposed children and his wife have disappeared from King's Landing," Stannis replied, "along with all of the other Lannisters and Westerlands lords."

There was a stunned silence around the table, "Could this be some trick your grace?" Davos asked uncertainly. Some men shot him dirty looks, though he had been knighted some of the highborn lords were still jealous of his position at Stannis' side. Ignoring them he continued, "What if you are being lured back a trap set by our enemies?"

"My spies have confirmed that these messages are true," Stannis said, "King's Landing is in chaos, the City Watch has retreated to the Red Keep and Janos Slynt, commander of the goldcloaks, has sent letters to several lords asking them to restore order."

"What lords?" Florent asked.

"Myself," Stannis said, "Tywin Lannister, Hoster Tully, Mace Tyrell," his lip curled, "And my brother Renly."

"Tywin Lannister will not answer," Melisandre said, standing up dramatically, "The Lord of Light has dragged him and his unholy spawn into hell itself!" She smiled, "Visions come to me of the Lannisters, they are now tormented by an army of demons, watched over by the flaming eye of R'hllor!"

Davos frowned, "What do you mean by this? Surely Tywin has called his family and bannermen home to consolidate strength in this time of crisis?"

Melisandre smiled, "No, the Westerlands and all those therein are gone _forever!_ "

"That is impossible!" Maester Cressen interrupted, "a kingdom can't simply disappear like that!"

"The Valyrian Freehold did," Stannis said in a low voice, "Perhaps the Westerlands has suffered a similar doom. For now though I will go and take King's Landing, if we move quickly we will reach it before any other lord does, my claim will be bolstered by seizing the city and the Iron Throne and we can bolster our numbers from the city's populace."

"Surely in the face of such a move Renly will renounce his claim?" Florent asked.

Stannis' face darkened, "Time will tell what Renly will do. It will be best for us if he does his duty, but if he does not… he will be dealt with."

"The Lord of Light reserves the deepest circle of hell for traitors," Melisandre said dreamily, "The Lannisters are now tormented there, if your brother joins their ranks he will suffer in kind."

"If he is so foolish the Lord of Light will have to wait behind me for the chance to take his head," Stannis growled, "but no matter the outcome I think we will meet at King's Landing, if possible I would be the one holding the walls." He paused and looked over the assembled lords, "Prepare to sail, I will declare myself King when I sit on the Iron Throne." He made a gesture and a pair of knights brought in a new banner, unfurling it they revealed a stag's head set upon a flaming eye.

"What is this your grace?" Davos asked.

"My new standard," the king replied, "The sigil of House Baratheon,"

"Framed by the flaming eye of the Lord of Light as it has appeared in my visions," finished Melisandre.

….

 **Littlefinger**

"You secreted them away didn't you?" Petyr Baelish accused Varys as they sat in the Small Council chambers alone. The only other remaining member, Grandmaester Pycelle, had fled for Oldtown days before.

"I did not," Varys said quietly, and from his tone Baelish actually found himself believing the man, "none of my little birds can uncover any trace of the royal family… there are also rather disturbing reports reaching me of events near the Westerlands."

"So you've heard that they're gone too?" Baelish said, leaning back in his chair. "That some strange land now juts into the sea where they once stood?"

"Yes," Varys said quietly. "Whatever took the Westerlands took all of it's sons and daughters as well."

"Magic then?" Baelish scoffed, "men of our station know better don't we spider?"

"Yes," Varys said gravely, "though not in the way you mean…"

 _What game is he playing?_ Baelish thought irritably. Varys seemed uncomfortable a moment, and after looking around absently he continued.

"Magic is real Baelish, it's rare, far rarer than peasant's tales and old stories would have you believe… but it is real, and it is deadly."

"Magic or mere rumor, it has plunged the realm into chaos," he replied irritably.

"Come now my friend," Varys said with a false smile, "weren't you the one who always used to say that chaos is a ladder to be climbed?"

"Indeed it is," Baelish said with a smile, "Slynt has invited a number of lords to the city to restore order, though I'm sure you know which one will arrive first…"

"Stannis Baratheon," Varys muttered, "a man who has joined himself to dark forces out of Asshai…" He studied Baelish a moment, "Petyr," he said finally, "know that there are some things beyond even such as us, do not play the game with them or you will find yourself as the low piece on the Cyvasse board."

 _So even the spider has his fears,_ he thought, _I'd thought you too clever for superstition Varys, it seems I was wrong._

"We must prepare a welcome for Lord Stannis in any case," he said, "I'm sure you know what he means to do when he arrives?"

"Declare himself king," Varys replied, "It's the natural thing to do, with the royal family missing and him the remaining heir the throne is his by rights… though with his new god he will soon run afoul of the septons and smallfolk."

"The septons and smallfolk tolerated the Targaryens and their incest for hundreds of years," he stood up and walked toward the door, "I'm sure in comparison Stannis and his red god are a mild offense at best."

"Time will tell," Varys said as he left the council chambers.

 **A/N: A Roar Unheard will just be a series of short omakes to give an idea of what's going on back in Westeros.**

 **ATP - I don't see a ship for Sandor in this fic's future so don't worry.**

 **Bakkuhghan - There probably won't be another pov in Moria, the fellowship's out and it's time to move the plot forward. I'm getting a little tired of retreading canon in that part of the story anyways and I'm yearning to move them into the areas where things have started to really change.**

 **efhb1994 - Thanks! Aragorn's presence is definitely an out of context problem for the Westerosi, but then so is Sauron so it's unlikely that Tywin and Cersei will have their usual reactions to him. Elladan and Elrohir plus the Grey Company will probably depart out of Rivendell to find and aid Aragorn, though their path will be different once that happens.**

 **Spellweaver10 - like I said one of the difficulties of writing the Fellowship story arc is that the first leg of the journey has to be pretty similar, I tried to change a few things to spice it up a bit (the dunlendings at Caradhras for example).**

 **Lord Razer - Euron's got an immense ego so he thinks he has a chance at mastering the ring but he really doesn't, not even close. As for Joffrey he did develop into a real threat over the course of the story, his plot arc was instrumental in Jaime's so he had to be something more than just the arrogant brat he is in canon.**


	99. XCV The Crow's Eye

**XCV**

 **The Crow's Eye**

"Row faster!" Euron screamed at the top of his voice, looking ahead at the entrance to the bay. He heard the drumbeats behind him and knew his pursuers were not far behind. Normally he would be holding himself to the bow of the ship as they sailed, but now he stood near the mast, his strength had not yet returned and he found it difficult to balance himself now that a large steel hook sat on his forearm where his hand had once been. His heart sank and fear crept in as he saw a pair of black sailed ships ahead of him, blocking the exit to the bay of Umbar.

Overhead there was a terrible screech and the fear suddenly grew to icy terror as a great winged creature swept low over their ship, just missing the mast. For one wild moment he thought to search for the dragon horn, but looking atop the thing's back he saw a black robed figure and knew it would do him no good against this beast.

His crew looked at him questioningly, "Stop," he growled in a defeated tone. A few moments later the ships pursuing him came alongside _Silence._

"Captain Greyjoy," Herumor called, stepping to the edge of the other ships deck, "You must return with me…" he looked away a moment, "I am sorry it came to this."

 _Not half so much as I am,_ he thought bitterly, "Stand down," he muttered to his men as the hooks flew out from the other ships, snaring _Silence_ as they were dragged forcibly back to Umbar. His mind raced wildly as he searched for anything that could allow him to escape, but he came up empty. There was a thudding sound as the ship was brought against the dock. He did not resist as a pair of men came aboard and placed shackles on him, the mutes only watched quietly, confused and unsure of what to do.

As he was dragged through the city he was pelted by bits of fruit and offal, the same people who had been so happy to see him sail into port with gold and plunder hadn't taken so well to his return without their loved ones. They finally reached the Steward's palace and dragged him to Salez's office where the man was waiting for him.

"Trying to flee?" Salez asked smugly, "did you really believe you could escape this failure Captain Greyjoy?"

Euron simply glared at him angrily, _if these fools release me for half a second I'll drag this hook across your throat,_ he thought, but the men didn't, and he remained silent.

"Our fleet is decimated," Salez continued, "we have ceded control of the seas to the enemy…" He leaned back in his chair, "captains have failed the Haven before, and in greater ways than this if you can believe it… I was inclined to give you another opportunity. As grating as your mannerisms can be, the trouble of removing you would have been worse." He grinned, "It is out of my hands now though, an agent of the Dark Lord has come to deal with you." He gestured to the guards, "Take him below, our guest is waiting for him."

"I do not fear the Dark Lord's messenger," Euron said with false bravado, "it was with his blessing that I came here!"

Salez raised an eyebrow and laughed as the guards forced Euron towards the door, "Well if he orders you returned to your position I'll be sure to make a public apology!"

They lead him through the palace until they came to a set of black doors covered in strange writing. One of the guards pulled them open to reveal a dark staircase winding down into as another lit a torch. They began their descent slowly. The path was a narrow and for a moment he considered trying to trip them and escape, but he felt a coldness in the pit of his stomach suddenly and realized that there would be no way out for him.

The source of the feeling was revealed as they arrived in the underground chamber where a black robed figure waited, " _Euron Greyjoy,"_ it rasped. It raised a hand and pointed back towards the stairs, " _leave us…"_ Taking the cue the men hurried up the stairs, eager to be away.

Euron fought down the fear in his stomach as a pair of torches on the far side of the room lit of their own accord. A table was revealed in the middle of the room with shackles on each end, on the walls were various blades, saws, and needles.

"So you are the Witch King of Angmar," Euron said boldly, "come to torture me yourself?"

The robed figure laughed, _"I am not he. More important matters call his attention."_ The nazgul gestured at the instruments on the walls, _"Nor does one of the Nine require such unrefined instruments to cause pain."_ From within it's robes it withdrew a crystalline orb.

His heart skipped a beat, "That's _mine_!" he growled, "I found it, it belongs to me!"

" _A man who thinks himself a mighty pirate should not be so quick to invoke ownership,"_ the Nazgul replied, walking towards him. As it approached he felt sweat drops forming on his face even as the room seemed to grow colder. It placed a single hand on his bindings and they fell to the floor, unlocked. " _Place your hands on the Palantir, it is time to deal with another wayward servant."_

Hesitantly he reached up with his remaining, never taking his eyes from the hooded figure, and grasped the orb. He felt the familiar rush as he was pulled seemingly through the building and into the skies above Umbar. He was not alone though, a shimmering white figure was alongside him, and though it appeared withered and corpselike he saw a crown upon its head and a ring upon its finger.

 _That's what they_ really _look like,_ he realized, _the price of immortality…_ The skeletal being gripped his arm and the wind blew as they found themselves above the tower of Isengard where smoke rose from the pits below.

" _Wizard!"_ it called in a booming voice, _"I know you are here! Reveal yourself!"_

A number of colorful beams of light came together, blurring red, blue, and yellow into white as the Wizard Saruman appeared, "What business do you have here foul servant of Sauron?" Saruman hissed, holding his staff before him. He noticed Euron suddenly, "Greyjoy…" he muttered, "I'm surprised to see you're still alive."

"What is dead may never die," Euron replied quietly, "but rises, harder and stronger."

"Then it can be made to die again until it sticks," Saruman said in a low voice. He turned back to the Nazgul, "Why are you here? Why have you brought this fool before me?"

Suddenly Euron felt pain wrack his body, looking down in horror he saw his skin sloughing off to reveal raw and bloody tissue underneath. He screamed but felt his teeth falling from his mouth as he did so, tumbling through the air into the clouds below.

" _I am here to present to you a final opportunity to abandon your madness and return to the fold Curunir,_ " the Nazgul said over Euron's screams. " _The consequences should you choose to ignore this offer will be dire…"_ a cloud of stinging dust seemed to swirl around him, the grit and jagged sand working its way into the wounds covering his body as he screamed.

Saruman gasped but anger crept into his voice, "I will not be intimidated by these threats, soon _you_ will bow to _me_!"

" _You think you are the only one clever enough to know the One's location…"_ The Nazgul replied, " _but even now the armies of the East march on you and the horselords. Your tower will fall and your abominations scattered before you ever hold the prize in your hands."_

"P-Please," Euron begged as the sand washed over him, "stop or let me die…"

" _Think on this Wizard,"_ the Nazgul laughed, " _or you will find yourself quoting Captain Greyjoy very soon."_

There was a rush of wind and he was back in the dungeon below Umbar. He pulled his hand away from the palantir and fell to his knees gasping. He felt a dry heave coming and he vomited on the floor. Wiping the mess from his face he stuck his finger in his mouth and was relieved to find his teeth still there.

" _Stand,"_ The Nazgul said. It took him a moment, but he slowly forced himself to his feet.

He weighed the steel hook in his hand, _I can cut my own throat,_ he thought bitterly, _I won't let it take me through that-_

" _Further punishment will only come as a result of further failures… or insubordination._ "

He paused, "So I'm to remain here?"

" _No,_ " the Nazgul replied, " _A servant of the Master will come to collect you soon. You are fortunate that our lord does not dispose of his tools until they have exhausted all usefulness."_

 _Use?_ He thought, and a hint of his old arrogance crept into his voice, "I suppose I could be persuaded to rejoin the war effort if I might have your help re-establishing my-" He was cut off as the Nazgul swiftly grabbed him by the neck, slowly hoisting him upwards as his feet kicked the air.

" _Do not try to bargain with me again. You have seen the Shadow Greyjoy, but do not think you know true darkness."_ It slowly lowered him again and released his neck, causing him to stumble back, rubbing his throat. " _If you desire a reward know that you will be brought to the same battlefield as the one who cast you down."_

 _The one who cast me down? Boromir of Gondor!_ He realized, and his heart filled with hate, _Yes it was_ HIS _fault that this happened! If not for him I would be lord of the seas!_ "I am yours to command," he said in a low voice.

" _I will tell the steward to outfit you and your men for departure,"_ the Nazgul said, walking toward the staircase, _"When the Black Snake of Harad arrives you will march North with him and his army. I have other matters to attend to."_

"What about my ships?" He asked, _what about Silence?_

" _They will be returned to you when we are ready for you to make use of them."_

His brow furrowed, "I don't understand."

" _Follow,"_ the Nazgul said simply, and he obeyed without question as the creature walked up the stairs and back into the main hall of the palace. They continued up another spiral staircase until they reached the top of a grand tower overlooking the city. Perched on the top of one of the spires was the winged creature that had cut off his escape earlier, it stretched its wings and roared as it's master walked to the edge of the tower balcony.

He gasped, outside of the city walls he could see a force approaching in the distance, but what caught his attention was the column of towering animals marching with it. He had seen elephants in Essos of course, but these creatures were at least three times as large any he'd encountered.

" _The Mumakil can carry some of your ships through the desert to the river Poros,"_ The Nazgul said as it beckoned it's fell beast.

Euron's eyes went wide, "We would be in the Anduin, behind all enemy patrols!" The excitement died, "but what good would it do? Even those creatures could only bring perhaps three or four ships that far."

" _Obey the orders you are given and in time the Dark Lord's wisdom will be made clear,"_ The Nazgul rasped. The flying creature had arrived now and it perched on the edge of the tower as the hooded figure walked towards it, it paused and looked back to Euron one last time, " _Do not fail the Master again._

 **A/N: Reviews are in the next chapter**


	100. XCVI The Queen

**XCVI**

 **The Queen**

Cersei sat in the great hall of Lothlorien contemplating her next move. She knew somehow that Galadriel had spoken the truth about the prophecy, though another part of her still wondered… _A new world for old words!_ The Witch King had said… but Tyrion's voice countered, _we are insects to him, amusing to stomp on but little else…_ She frowned _he said such things to torment me,_ she assured herself, _he reached inside my mind and found something he thought would hurt…_

 _I would not lie to you Cersei Lannister,_ Galadriel's voice echoed through her mind. She furrowed her brow and shot a glance at the elven lady sitting a few seats down from her. It was still disconcerting to know that the lady of the wood could glance into her mind seemingly at will, but if nothing else she had at least become convinced of Galadriel's good nature.

Near them Kevan was explaining the history of House Lannister to Celeborn, who was listening intently, "Lann the Clever was the first Lannister over the sea," Kevan explained, "the first Andal probably, and it was he who took Casterly Rock from the Casterly family."

"Why did he make such a journey?" Celeborn interrupted, "the Andals came from the land of Essos didn't they? Why would he journey across land and sea to the Rock?"

Kevan shrugged, "The tales do not say. What is known is that he found his way to Casterly Rock and devised a scheme to get the Casterly's to leave. What that scheme was varies by the teller."

The elven lord raised an eyebrow, "Which one do you believe Ser Kevan?"

"The most common one I think," Kevan said, taking a drink of wine, "he found a secret way in and played tricks on them in the night to make them think it was haunted." He chuckled, "there are those who say he used the secret entrance to sneak _lions_ in to devour the Casterlys, or in one other tale-" Kevan blushed suddenly, "well that last one is… unfit for these halls."

Galadriel seemed somewhat amused, _The version of the story where he slept with all of Casterly's daughters!_ Cersei realized that Gaaldriel was holding back a laugh.

"If I had to guess the first story is probably right," Celeborn agreed, "putting lions into the castle seems to do little more than trade one hostile occupant for another…" he stroked his chin, "tell me about the Children of the Forest, they sound similar to my own people-"

Suddenly an elf entered the hall and shouted something in Quenya, causing a hush to fall over those gathered in the hall. Celeborn shouted something back to him and the elf bowed before leaving.

"I am afraid we will have to discuss it another time Ser Kevan," Celeborn said as he stood up, "more outsiders have arrived and we must treat with them."

"I understand, duty before merriment and so on," Kevan said, raising his cup as they left.

 _Who could have arrived in Lothlorien that warrants a greeting by the Lord and Lady?_ She got up and followed the small crowd of elves until a few split off towards a balcony that overlooked the entryway of Lothlorien. Below she saw a small party approach flanked by elves wearing the same green colored garments that Amran had worn. They were blindfolded, and peering down she saw that at least some in the party were men along with what looked like four children.

As the party below was permitted to remove their blindfolds and continued closer she gasped as she saw Faramir among them. Her eyes lingered on the rest of the party and she nearly gasped a second time, _Sandor Clegane?!_

"The Hound!?" Kevan whispered, startling her, she hadn't realized he'd followed. "What is the seven hells is he doing here?" The two of them hurried back down the hall towards the main audience chamber, but it was shut now and a pair of guards stood before it.

"The Lord and Lady are meeting with guests," The guard explained, "I am sorry but they have asked that this meeting remain private."

"But that's one of our sworn men!" Kevan protested, "We need to speak with Sandor Clegane at once!"

"It must wait," the elf said, "if it pleases you I will tell them that you are here."

"Fine, see that you do," Kevan said as he turned to walk back towards his quarters. Cersei spared one last glance at the doors before following Kevan down the hallway. "I've got a few things I'd like to say to the Hound," Kevan muttered.

 _As do I,_ she thought bitterly. She parted from Kevan, going to her own chambers, a book lay open on her bed from the night before, an account of some war or another waged by the elves against Morgoth written in some strange dialect of the common tongue that made it difficult, but not impossible, to read. She was in no mood for that though, and instead she poured herself a glass of wine, letting it fill nearly to the top and almost overflowing the cup before she took it and drank deeply.

A short time later, after she'd emptied the cup completely she heard people walking outside her door. She got up and put her ear to it, listening to the conversation.

"These are the guest halls," a muffled voice said, "you may choose to stay together or in separate chambers, there will be food in the main banquet hall later, for now rest and recover your strength." She opened the door slightly and peered outside to see the party separating and entering different rooms. At the end of the hall she saw Clegane trudge into one.

If the elven host saw her he said nothing as he walked back down the hallway. _Now is not the time to confront Sandor Clegane,_ Galadriel's voice echoed through her mind, _And in truth can Clegane tell you anything that you do not already know?_

"He was supposed to guard Joffrey," she said to no one, "he was supposed to keep him safe…"

 _Joffrey's soul was poisoned long before he left Casterly Rock with Sandor Clegane, in your heart you know this._

She did, but her anger only grew. She walked to the end of her bed where her pack lay, fumbling in it she withdrew the long knife Kevan had given her back in Osgiliath. It seemed like a lifetime ago now, but she'd taken it with her even if she'd preferred to wear the thin sword that had been provided for her.

The voice grew stern, _Cersei do not-_

"I will have some measure of justice for my son," she said as she stepped into the hallway again. She swiftly walked towards Clegane's room. She paused a moment before taking a deep breath and pushing the door open.

What she saw shocked her, the Hound, one of House Lannister's most terrifying servants, sat in a large chair, tears drying on his face. He had removed his armor, remaining in a plain cotton shirt and pair of breeches. He had a wine cup in hand and she could see that he had done as she had, and filled the provided cup to the brim.

"Cersei fucking Lannister," he growled, sniffing slightly as he sat up in the chair. "As if I needed more proof the gods hated me."

"That's hardly a proper way to greet the daughter of your liege lord," she snapped, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her.

"You've got something behind your back," Clegane muttered, "a blade's my guess…" he stood up, towering over her, "It's been a fucking terrible few days for me, but I'm in no mood to die. Drop it and I won't hurt you."

She brought the knife around as quickly as she could, but he grabbed her wrist and she felt a sharp pain as he twisted it, causing the knife fell from her grip. With a sigh he shoved her back, causing her to stumble as he bent over to pick the blade up.

"A nice knife," he said, turning it over. He backed up to his chair again and sat, "So to what demon of the Seven Hells do I owe this visit? The elves said you and Kevan were skulking around here somewhere, but I expected a more formal meeting than this."

"You were supposed to guard my son," she spat, "he is dead."

He raised an eyebrow, "Last I saw of the little shit he was alive and well with your cousin Daven, talk to him." He grinned, "Who did the deed?"

"My brother Jaime," she said quietly.

He raised an eyebrow, "The Kingslayer again then? What happened?"

She told him the tale of how Joffrey had fallen in with a goblin army, how he had marched on the Westerlands and taken the Rock, how Jaime had slain him. As she told it Clegane's smile disappeared and a frown replaced it.

"I remember when he wanted to leave," Clegane muttered, "I'd thought it was just a flight of fancy, something he would get bored of once he went a few nights without a soft bed…" he sighed, "then we met the Wizard and suddenly all of the talk about magic rings started to make sense, started to seem real."

"The Wizard?" She asked, "Gandalf then, the one who brought Tyrion to Rohan…"

"Gandalf?" Clegane said angrily, causing her to pause, "Gandalf is- Was my friend." He paused, seeing her shocked expression and he lowered his voice, "Gandalf… Gandalf's gone. The one we met was Saruman, he's the prick at the heart of all the misery on this side of the Anduin."

"You could have ended Joffrey's quest at any time," She said quietly.

He laughed, "And when I got back I'd spend the rest of my life wondering when the little monster was going to have a man slice my throat in my sleep for the insult. It wasn't my place to correct him like that, it never was." He took a drink of his wine and regarded her a moment, "There were many times I would have liked to step out of my place, times when I would have liked to turn my sword on those giving the orders…" he glared at her and she realized suddenly that she was one of the people he was talking about.

"So why didn't you?" She asked defiantly.

"What good would it have done?" he said in a slurred voice, the wine was starting to take effect now, "I'd be killed and some other bastard would just step in and pick up where the other one left off, plenty of knights and lords maiming and killing people who had nothing to do with their feuds" he glared at her, "always plenty more Lannisters… but what would a Queen know about any of that?"

"I did what I did so that I might have eked some small measure of respect and happiness out of life." She paused a moment, "If the things I did in pursuit of that shock your conscience _dog_ blame the land and laws that forced me to do them."

"No," he snarled, "No, I don't think so." He stood up and she backed away, frightened, "Giving into that kind of thinking was how "the land and laws" as you call them got so bad in the first place, the good people saw evil and did nothing, worse they did evil themselves." He glared down at her, "There's no more room for excuses. Our sins are our own." He reached down and for one terrifying moment she thought he was reaching for the knife on the bed, but instead he picked up his wine cup and drained it before looking back at her, "Leave." She did, slowly backing out of the room and closing the door.

"Did you hear what you hoped to?" Galadriel said behind her. She whirled around to see the elven lady, standing there alone in the hallway.

"You needn't worry," she said quietly, "I did not harm him."

"I did not worry for _his_ safety," Galadriel replied, "think on what he told you." She turned to leave.

"Wait!" Cersei called, causing her to pause, "Lady Galadriel… what is it that you hope to have me learn? What purpose do you have for telling me these things?"

Galadriel smiled, "Purpose? It is your journey Cersei Lannister, where it goes is up to you. I am only trying to illuminate the paths before you in the hope that you might choose one that brings you some measure of happiness."

Cersei thought on this as Galadriel walked away. _Some measure of happiness… What would that mean for me now?_ Rather than returning to her room she walked slowly through the hallway in the same direction Galadriel had gone, but rather than turn towards the interior of the palace as the Lady of the Wood had she moved toward the exterior and finally outside into the gardens. The sun had just set, and most of the elves had gone to their own homes, though she spotted at least one guard, looking bored as he stood by the gate.

Suddenly she heard a faint music on the air, a harp? Someone was singing, a man by the sound of the voice. She followed a small path to an unfamiliar garden until she could make out the last few words of the song.

 _You shall not pass! You shall not pass!_

 _Gandalf O' Gandalf, now you rest at last_

Faramir was there, sitting on a bench before a series of flowerbeds and still strumming the harp even as his song had ended.

"As skilled with the harp as with the sword I see," Cersei said, slowly walking into the garden.

He looked up at her and smiled a little, "You must forgive me lady Cersei, I would have come to see you immediately if not for..." he sighed, "we have lost one of our traveling companions."

"The Wizard," she said quietly, "Tyrion spoke highly of him. He even asked that I thank the man on his behalf if ever we met."

"Many owe Gandalf such thanks," Faramir said, "he always seemed to know what to say, what to do…" he sighed sadly, "It's a pity you never had the chance to meet him… It will be hard on some of my companions I think, it is always hard to lose a friend, but some of have never felt this sorrow."

"I take it you found Rivendell then?" She asked, moving closer and sitting on the bench next to him, "only one member of your party is an elf though… and how did you end up with Sandor Clegane?"

Faramir shrugged, "He came to Rivendell with Gandalf and the hobbits, the small ones," he explained seeing her confused look. He frowned a moment, "I wonder how he's taking this…"

"He has seen plenty of death in his time," Cersei said dismissively.

Faramir shook his head, "the man has had a difficult life. I think he was only just getting used to the idea of having friends and now he's lost one."

"I saw him briefly," she said, "he seemed to be drinking his sorrows away."

Faramir strummed the harp, "All men mourn in their own ways, Clegane it seems prefers to drink." He began a low few notes, "I've always preferred song myself…" he paused a moment, "I ran into your uncle on the way to my room, he told me about your son, I'm sorry."

"I've cried my tears," she said softly, "I don't know what more there is to say of Joffrey beyond what has been said."

"If you loved him his memory will be honored in our house," Faramir replied as he continued to run his finger over the strings. There was a sudden off note and he frowned, "I borrowed this from Lady Galadriel's minstrel, I couldn't take my own obviously…"

"I don't know if we will be married," Cersei said, looking up at the sky, "My father has told me to bring him an elven army or face banishment… Whatever worth I might have had as a marriage prospect disappeared when my son raised his banners against my father." Faramir sat in silence for a moment, digesting this information.

"We will decide what to do when the war is over," he said finally. "Until then my sadness has not yet abated, would you care for a song? I could play you the Rains of Castamere."

"No," she said perhaps too quickly, seeing his reaction she stammered, "What I mean to say is… it's a rather somber song, not fit at all for this place."

"Did I hear someone say something about a song?" A new voice called, coming down the path she saw two of the small figures from earlier, Hobbits Faramir had called them.

Faramir smiled and waved to them in greeting, "I was just about to play the lady a song from her homeland," he said, "This is Cersei Lannister, the daughter of Lord Tywin Lannister of the Westerlands!"

The two hobbits slowed and looked at one another a moment before one bowed hastily, nearly falling over, "Greetings m'lady, I am Meriadoc Brandybuck, Merry to friends, and this is my associate-"

"I can introduce myself!" The other one exclaimed, but seeing her amused look his face turned red and he bowed as well, "Peregrin Took, Pippin to friends, at your service Lady Lannister!"

"So you are two of Faramir's traveling companions," she said with an amused smile, "I don't suppose either of you can tell me what business he's been away on?" The two of them looked at one another sheepishly but said nothing.

"I'm afraid it's something that must be kept secret for now," Faramir said before either could speak, "let us return to the topic of songs, in honor of Lady Cersei I propose a song of the Westerlands."

Pippin rubbed his chin, "Well the only one Clegane ever sang was that one about the Dornishman's wife…" a lecherous grin came over his face, "I don't suppose this _Dorne_ place came with you in The Arrival did it?"

"Pippin!" Merry snapped, looking at her, "that's hardly a song for a lady! Especially not in a place like this!"

"I'm quite familiar with that song," she said tersely, _Gods know Robert slurred his way through it enough times,_ "And no I'm afraid Dorne did not come with us in The Arrival." She thought a moment, "The Bear and the Maiden Fair perhaps?"

Faramir smiled and nodded, "I learned that back at the Golden Tooth, you might have to help me with some of the lyrics," he turned to her, "I'll play, you sing."

He began the tune and she slowly sang in a soft voice,

 _A bear there was, a bear, a bear!_

 _all black and brown, and covered with hair._

 _The bear! The bear!_

She made it through the song once and the two hobbits eagerly joined in as they repeated it, with their voices joined to hers the song seemed to gain life and she found herself smiling a little as the three of them sang it, sensing this Faramir picked up the tempo slightly until they reached the final verse.

 _Then she sighed and squealed and kicked the air!_

 _My bear! She sang. My bear so fair!_

 _And off they went, from here to there,_

 _The bear, the bear, and the maiden fair!_

They all laughed as it ended, _How long has it been since I truly enjoyed a song?_ She wondered, _Not since childhood maybe…_

"Another!" Pippin said excitedly, "Merry! Let's teach them the Green Dragon song!"

The four of them sang together for another hour or so, accompanied by Faramir's harp. At one point they moved farther away from the palace for fear of waking those inside, but if they did no one came to silence them.

Finally they grew tired and each retired to their own chambers, _It's too bad,_ she thought as she closed the door to her room, _he might have been a good husband after all…_ she frowned as a sad thought occurred to her, _No, he would spurn me if he knew half of what I've done._ She thought over Galadriel's words, _Find a path to some form of happiness…_ she sighed, _if the paths before me are illuminated I still see none that I want to travel._

 **A/N: All right a few general notes on the omake, Sauron isn't the "real" R'hllor (if there is one), Melisandre just saw a big flaming eye in her dreams and put two and two together and came up with R'hllor = flaming eye. The Starks are still in a bad spot, they've got the Ironborn, the Baratheons, and maybe even the Tyrells gunning for them. Still with Tywin's army gone they might at least protect some of the Riverlands.**

 **Eduard Kassel - Nah Tyrion won't let Shagga and Crakehall burn down Edoras while he's gone, he's keeping those two close by.**

 **Lord Razer - Oliphaunts will be tricky, on the one hand Westerosi knights are insanely brave (Stannis' army fought mammoths and giants without issue) on the other hand charging** ** _at_** **the things isn't the best move.**

 **ATP - Tywin's taking a break from "the game" for awhile since he's finally come around to the realities of his situation.**

 **Reader - Religious conflict is going to break out in Westeros a lot sooner, especially since every faith will be claiming the disappearance is a sign from the gods.**

 **Quelthias - We'll look back on Westeros now and then. I'm not going to split the story entirely between the two though, it would be too time consuming to develop it into a whole separate story.**


	101. XCVII The Hound

**XCVII**

 **The Hound**

Clegane woke with a splitting headache. He groaned as he sat up, the empty wine pitcher his hosts had left in his room lay on the floor, judging from the distance he'd thrown it across the room after it had run dry. He blinked a few times and began to get dressed. Idly he wondered if Cersei Lannister had really come to his room the night before, but seeing the blade still on the bed he decided she had.

There was a stinging feeling and he looked down at his hand, though it had been treated by Aragorn and was healing quickly the cut still hurt. He clenched his fist defiantly as he looked at the new burn scars he'd taken during the attack on the Shire, idly his hand went to the arrow wound he'd taken on his shoulder and the muscles in his armpit ached where he'd been stabbed outside of Rivendell. He chuckled feeling the sting of his wounds, _By the end of this my face might match the rest of me._

His stomach growled and he decided to get himself some food. As he walked towards the banquet hall he realized it had to be at least midday, there was an elf circling the hall with a cart bearing bread and some manner of stew. He walked towards the elf who smiled and poured him a bowl and handed him a small loaf of bread.

He eyed the bread curiously, it was crème colored and had a strange feeling texture, "What sort of bread is this?" he asked.

"Lembas bread," the elf answered, "far more filling and sweeter than any bread of men."

He eyed it suspiciously and then took a bite. His eyebrows went up, it had a sweet and buttery taste and a light texture like a cake. He felt his hangover receding as he took another bite, and a grin came over his face.

"I'll have another!"

The elf just laughed, "You might finish the one you have first. You'll find it harder than you think!"

With a defiant frown he took another loaf of bread from the elf's cart and sat at one of the tables. After taking a few bites he decided the elf was probably right, the bread seemed far more filling than food of its size should, and after finishing the first loaf of the bread he felt far better than he had any right to after drinking as much as he had the night before.

"Good to see you are awake," Aragorn said as he sat next to him, he had a bowl of soup as well. "I was beginning to worry you drank yourself to death."

He shrugged, "Not yet."

"I talked with some of the others this morning," Aragorn continued, "We'll rest here for a week, maybe a little longer, then we're going to head south on the Anduin towards Gondor. Kevan Lannister has approached me and asked if he and Cersei might accompany us, at least until the North Undeep."

He thought a moment, "I think it's a bad idea, they're Lannisters, if Lord Tywin gets wind of what we're carrying we'll have another army after us soon enough."

Aragorn nodded and sighed, "I'd worried as much, but by the time any of them know our true mission we will be beyond the reach of any lord of Gondor or the Westerlands, and there are only the two of them, an old man and a woman besides."

"Kevan Lannister was a hell of knight at one time," Clegane said gruffly, "and Cersei might be a spoiled tart but she's as ruthless as any cutthroat I've ever met."

"They'll have no reason to sabotage us, the Lannisters have allied themselves with Gondor and the free peoples," Aragorn said, "Faramir has told him that the our party has a secret message for the Steward of Gondor and that we hired you as a sellsword in Rivendell."

"I suppose that's believable," he grinned, "how much is Faramir supposed to be paying me?"

"Actually Ser Kevan said that I should not pay you anything since you're sworn to House Lannister already," Faramir said, sitting down next to them, "in fact he said he would intercede with Lord Tywin on your behalf if you continued to serve the company faithfully until our mission is over."

"I'd have preferred the gold," he muttered.

Faramir just laughed, "You can discuss it with Ser Kevan, we've been invited to a meeting with Lord Celeborn this afternoon, he'll be there."

He just sighed in response, _Great, more Lannisters._ He finished his meal and talked with Faramir and Aragorn about the path the journey would need to take for some time before a high pitched horn called from somewhere and the three of them left to meet the Elven lord.

Celeborn was waiting for them in one of the towers of Lorien, rather than sitting at the table inside he beckoned them out to the large balcony where he'd arranged a long table and a number of chairs, along with wine glasses and a few pitchers. Kevan Lannister was already there, as were Legolas and Gimli. A moment later Cersei walked in, shooting him a strange look as she sat next to her uncle.

"Greetings friends," Celeborn began, "please have a seat." A moment later the four hobbits entered, and the elven lord gestured for them to sit near him as he sat the head of the table.

"Well it seems everyone's here," Pippin said, looking around, "You must be Ser Kevan!"

"And you lot are hobbits aren't you?" Kevan asked, stroking his chin, "Are all people of your country so small?"

"Are all people of yours so big?" Merry retorted, crossing his arms with a smile.

"Well mostly," Kevan replied, "my nephew Tyrion is about your height, tell me how do you-"

"Uncle this seems somewhat impolite," Cersei said suddenly.

Clegane raised an eyebrow, _Cersei Lannister cares about sparing someone's feelings?_

Kevan for his part seemed somewhat embarrassed, "My apologies," he said, making a small bow with his head, "this world is so different from the one we came from…"

Frodo smiled, "No offense taken Ser Kevan, my uncle Bilbo says that even the most well-traveled hobbit wouldn't see all the lands and peoples there are to see…" the smile faded, "Gandalf used to say that even someone like him hadn't explored all edges of the map…"

"Well if nothing else I can say I've met some hobbits," Kevan said, "Clegane!" he barked, turning towards him, "I trust Faramir has explained my terms to you?"

"Oh yes Ser Kevan," Clegane said, fighting to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, "your offer is most appreciated."

"Good," Kevan said, "We might yet get some use out of you…"

 _I've been of plenty "use" you miserable piece of-_

"I hope you have all found some manner of rest in Lorien," Celeborn began, "My hope is that we might discuss the wider war and the path of your departure. You have all no doubt seen the shadow to the East in the fortress of Dol Goldur." Clegane looked to the East and saw a mountain cloaked in black clouds, their guide had pointed it out when they'd first arrived, but now in light of day he saw it fully.

"At least one of the Nine dwells there now, perhaps more," Galadriel said, walking onto the balcony and taking a seat beside her husband, "I feel their foul presence…"

"They're on the hunt for your party," Celeborn said quietly, "your departure will come under their shadow."

"What message does your party carry that draws their attention?" Kevan asked, glancing eastward with a shudder, "surely you could share-"

"It must be kept as secret as possible," Aragorn cut in, "even a single additional man hearing of it could jeopardize the entire mission."

"Very well," Kevan muttered, "but if we are to be pursued by one of the Nine on our way back to Minas Tirith… a man might know what he's risking his life for."

"And what would a knight of the Westerlands know of the Nine?" Legolas asked.

"They were at Osgiliath," Kevan said, "I was there when they drove some of the finest men I've ever known to flight by their mere presence."

"Is the brave Ser Kevan scared?" Clegane asked with a grin.

"You're damn right I am!" Kevan retorted angrily, "You weren't there!" he stopped and sighed, "maybe you should have been… who can say what might have happened if the king hadn't… It doesn't matter now," he looked Sandor in the eyes, "These _things,_ they're not men, you can't just shoot them with a crossbow, stab them, or run them down… One of them rode by me and I swear by the Seven it said nothing, but I _felt_ it Clegane. It…" He stopped again, seeing their looks, "Gods…"

"Please continue Ser Kevan," Celeborn said, "I think those assembled must hear your words to know what horrors they might face on this journey."

"Fine then," Kevan muttered, "I felt its hate, a darkness that sapped my resolve and made me wish for death. If it had lasted more than a fraction of a second I wouldn't be here before you."

"The black breath," Galadriel said, "you are lucky to have escaped Ser Kevan, it has cost many men their lives."

"So what do we do if these Nazgul do come after us?" Clegane asked irritably, "Hold our breath?"

"Fire," Aragorn said simply, "they can be driven away by it, though not destroyed entirely."

 _Bloody great,_ he thought, _of course it would be fucking fire…_

"Our utmost goal must be to avoid confronting them at all," Aragorn continued.

"It is not only them that you must be wary of," Celeborn said as he withdrew a letter from his robe, "our Lannister friends brought me this letter from Tyrion in Edoras." He unfolded it and handed it down the table to Aragorn. "There are forces moving from the East, the blow that would have struck the lands north of here will now fall upon Rohan and Gondor."

"They know that forcing their way over the Anduin is impossible, no doubt because of our stout defense of Osgiliath," Kevan said, "According to Tyrion's letter the army will approach sometime this winter or in the spring, we will be back in Gondor by then."

"The first groups of Easterlings have already begun to gather near Dol Goldur for the invasion of Rohan," Celeborn said, "there is a strong possibility that some of their scouts will be near the Undeeps, you will need to plan accordingly."

"Easterlings usually scout in parties of a dozen at most," Faramir cut in, "and with Aragorn and Legolas at the head of the party they won't take us unawares. I don't believe they will present a challenge to our company."

"Not by strength of arms perhaps," Celeborn cautioned, "but if even one of them escaped the enemy would know your location, your route of approach, it would make the rest of the journey much more difficult."

"If it comes to that you can accompany Cersei and I back through Rohan," Kevan said, "it would be a longer journey, but a safer one."

"I fear time is of the essence for us Ser Kevan," Faramir replied, "We will have to continue on over the river."

"So be it then," Kevan sighed, "I'd offer to go with you all the way to Minas Tirith but I'm afraid my niece and I would only slow you down if you need to move that quickly."

"It's settled then," Aragorn said, "I'll begin putting together the supplies we need for the journey."

Celeborn nodded, "Everything you need will be-"

There was a sudden commotion as the door swung open, revealing Haldir, the elven captain who had first guided them to Lorien. His face was flushed and a slight sheen of sweat was on his forehead.

"Lady Galadriel! Lord Celeborn!" He began, panting, "A force of orcs has attacked the Eastern border! We have driven them back, but they are lighting fires as they retreat, we need free hands to-"

"Be at ease marchwarden," Galadriel said standing up and walking to the edge of the balcony. Even now there was smoke starting to rise in the east, growing thicker and blacker with each passing moment. Clegane saw the elven lady's eyes flash and for a moment there was something dangerous there, something primal. Involuntarily he gulped and steadied himself. "The fires will do no harm," she said quietly, "but our guests should move inside, rain is coming soon."

From above a dull rumble of thunder echoed, Clegane looked around the sky and saw the clouds begin to darken and come together. _That's no natural rain,_ he thought as he looked at her, _she brought it here somehow._

 _It is my place of power,_ Galadriel's voice echoed in his mind, _my garden to order as I see fit._ As the voice said it a cold wind blew and he felt a slight chill, looking around he saw the others did too, the hobbits were pulling their cloaks around themselves, and the others were starting to move back inside the tower as Galadriel had suggested.

"Come friends," Celeborn said, casting a glance back at Galadriel, "If we must spend the remainder of the day inside let us do so in the banquet hall, with songs and warm drinks!"

He was getting ready to follow the others out but he heard Galadriel's voice again, _stay a moment…_ He hesitated and looked back, the wind was picking up now and the tops of the trees were swaying. The thunder rumbled again. A moment later they were alone on the balcony.

"So the dwarf was right," he said, "you are some sort of sorceress."

She turned to him and smiled, "Gimli has a kind and courageous heart, he gives me hope that the wounds our peoples dealt to one another out of greed and grief might yet heal." She paused, "Sorcery is an odd phrase that men and dwarves apply to things they do not know, but I am possessed of some gifts that are called such."

"So what do you want with me then?" He asked, "Someone who can call down storms hardly needs another sword to command."

"Only a few words," she said as she looked up at the darkening sky, "it calls to you doesn't it?"

He froze, "What do you mean?" he asked in a low voice, "I've heard it yes, everyone who's close to it does."

"The temptations grow subtler, more powerful, with time," she continued, "Do you fear the failure of the quest?"

"If I didn't I'd be drinking in a tavern somewhere," he replied, "The world we came from… it was a place where the weak were playthings for the strong, a place where monsters like my brother and me were turned loose…" anger crept into his voice, "I'm not letting this world become like the one that turned me into the Hound."

"Will the Hound survive the journey?" she asked, "or will Sandor Clegane? I see a future for only one."

"I've never cared for riddles," he said in an irritated tone, "what do you mean by that?"

The rain was beginning to fall in earnest now, causing the distant smoke to falter and slowly fade. Galadriel smiled and walked back inside the tower, he followed her, glad to be out of the rain. The two of them walked towards the great hall where the others were waiting, Faramir tuning a lute while the hobbits looked excitedly at steaming mugs of cider that were being passed around. He sat near them and returned their smiles as he thought on Galadriel's words.

 _Nice of her to speak so plainly,_ he thought bitterly, but another part of him was convinced she'd said something important, and his thoughts continued to trouble him. _The Hound… what am I but the Hound?_

 **A/N: Sorry this one took so long, it's been that kind of week. Anyways let me answer a few reviews...**

 **Lord Razer - The "Sauron Social Ladder" That's such a ridiculous and hilarious phrase I think I might have to steal it.**

 **Jackalope089 - well historically the Romans would just get out of the way of the elephants until they tired themselves out, but then again they had to get smashed by elephant charges quite a few times before they figured that out. The Rohirrim encountered something they knew nothing about and just tried to solve it the way they usually do, with a charge.**

 **Bakkughan - Euron's a sly character who** ** _maybe_** **could have figured out a way to elude or defeat a single Nazgul, but the biggest problem was what the Nazgul symbolized, basically Sauron had committed one of his top servants to dealing with him, and even getting away would have been temporary at best.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - There's a number of varying origins for Lann's story, I was going off what was in World of Ice and Fire and he's apparently an Andal in some versions of the story so I figured Kevan would like those ones better than having the founder of House Lannister be one of the First Men. Anyways Euron's got a few things yet to do in the story.**


	102. XCVIII The Imp

**XCVIII**

 **The Imp**

Tyrion was beginning to wonder if Eowyn had intended this trip across Rohan as a punishment. Where southern Rohan had forests and mountains northern Rohan was an empty expanse with little to attract the eye. It wasn't until they came to the first of the homesteads to be razed that he realized her true intentions.

"Please Lord Tyrion," The farmer begged as the riders rode through his fields, dropping lit torches, "Might the house at least be spared?"

"I'm afraid not," he said, looking down at the man from atop his horse, "Nothing can remain that the enemy might use."

"My father lived there, and his father before him, my sons were all born-"

"It has to go," Tyrion said firmly, feeling guilty as he looked the man in the eyes, "When the war is over it can be rebuilt."

The man nodded sadly, a moment later his wife walked to him, "Alan, the last of our things are on the wagon… it's time to go." He sighed and walked with her towards the small caravan consisting of his sons and hired hands. The woman stopped a moment, "Lord Tyrion," she said hesitantly, causing him to look up, "I have a small spice garden beneath the kitchen window… don't miss it."

"I'll see to it," he said grimly as the family boarded their wagon. As they rolled off into the prairie Shagga threw the first torch onto the thatched roof. He rode around the house slowly to see that someone had already uprooted the spice garden the woman had spoken of. _At least our meat will be well seasoned tonight,_ he thought.

With their work done they began moving further into the Wold. They'd left Edoras with a group of fifty riders selected by Daven. As an afterthought he'd decided to bring the raven, Rerir, to scout ahead for them, but he was beginning to wonder if it was necessary, even someone as short as him could see for miles in every direction. Still, the bird was an amusing companion, and he helped to lighten the mood.

"Now tell me stop if you've heard this one my friends!" The bird began, bobbing on Daven's shoulder, "Two birds perch on opposite sides of a nest, one faces east, one faces west, but they can see one another clearly! How is it possible?"

"Sorcery maybe…" Daven said, eyeing the bird, "Do you ravens practice sorcery?"

"Mirrors!" Crakehall shouted excitedly, "they're using a set of mirrors!"

Rerir laughed, a sound that resembled a normal crows caw, "How many birds do you know that have mirrors in their nests?" he asked.

"Shagga never knew any birds that had mirrors," the clansman said irritably, "and none that talked."

"There was a man in Flea Bottom who had a talking bird," Bronn remarked, "it only said the said the same things over and over though, it certainly never told a riddle…" He paused and stroked his short beard, "do the birds nest above water? Do they see each other in a reflection?"

"They face east and west," Rerir said, "they do not look down."

Bronn scowled, "I don't know then."

They all looked back to Tyrion expectantly and he smiled, "Well we know that reflection, be it in a mirror or in water, is not involved," he spared a glance at Daven and chuckled, "nor is _sorcery_ …" He stroked his chin a moment, "The birds are sitting on opposite sides of the nest facing _inward_ towards the center, one faces each direction but they also face each other!"

"Very good!" The raven cackled, "Now one of you must ask one!"

"Shagga has a riddle!" he shouted excitedly, "Two teeth I have, one the forest's foe, the other tastes blood, as all First Men know…"

"An axe," Bronn said without hesitation, causing Shagga to scowl. The sellsword just shrugged, "I've heard it before."

"I think I'd like a turn," Tyrion said. He thought a moment and smiled, "What tradesman's art is appreciated the longest? Longer than the smith, the mason, or the carpenter?"

"The men of Dale say that a word lasts but a moment but a picture forever," Rerir replied uncertainly, "Perhaps the painter?"

"A bard," Bronn guessed, "Half the songs I know are older than the Red Keep."

"This man's work is appreciated long after the finest paintings are stolen or lost, and after even the best songs are forgotten," Tyrion replied.

Just as it looked like Rerir was about make another guess a rider approached them, "Lord Tyrion," he began, "one of the advance scouts has spotted a party of orcs!"

"How many?" he asked

"Maybe two hundred," the rider replied, "I didn't want to get too close."

A hushed murmur came from the men behind them, "Most of these men are green," Daven said quietly to him, "The veterans are with Lady Eowyn."

"Rerir," he said, "can you fly over them and get a better count? Perhaps see what manner of weapons they have?"

"As you will," the bird cawed. Flapping his wings he took off from Daven's shoulder and flew in the direction the rider had come from.

"What are your orders Lord Tyrion?" the scout asked, panic creeping into his voice.

"Circle up and prepare for battle!" he shouted.

"How could they have gotten this far into Rohan without alerting anyone?" Bronn asked as he drew his sword and began scanning the horizon.

"It's a sparse country," Tyrion replied, "if the orcs could resist the urge to plunder it is entirely possible that they got this far without arousing any suspicion." A few moments later a black dot appeared in the sky, at first Tyrion thought it was Rerir, but as it moved closer he saw it was larger, and had batlike wings.

"What in the seven hells is that thing?" Crakehall asked, pointing at it.

"I'm guessing it's not one of ours," he turned back to the men, "Archers! Be ready to bring it down if it gets closer!" but the flying creature remained just out of bow range as it observed them.

A moment later he saw Rerir come back into view, flapping his wings and moving faster than any bird Tyrion had ever seen, behind him were four more of the bat-winged creatures, "Help you fools!" He cawed loudly.

"Cover him!" Tyrion shouted, a few archers moved forward and began loosing arrows up at the raven's pursuers, causing them to break off and fly back in the direction they'd come.

"The scout was right," The bird muttered as it swooped down and landed on Daven's shoulder, "two hundred orcs," he glared at Tyron, "as well as a dozen flyers of their own!"

"How could I have known that?" Tyrion asked.

"This is _your_ war, _you_ should know the enemy!" The bird squawked.

"Were they coming this way?" Bronn asked, interrupting them.

"No," Rerir said, "they were moving to the northeast."

"Is it possible they're afraid?" Daven asked.

"No," Tyrion muttered, "they outnumber us four to one, any orc would leap at the chance for a battle like that."

"They are after gold," Shagga said, "the Stone Crows know the ways of raiding well. They will stay away from fighting men if they can."

"There are softer targets they could have hit," Bronn said, "what could they be after so far into Rohan?"

Tyrion thought over what they'd said, _A chance encounter with so wide a land… there are no more chance encounters though are there?_ "We'll follow them," Tyrion said, "don't engage their scouts, keep back so that we can run if they turn and come after us."

"I don't like this," Bronn said, "We should go back to Edoras and get more men."

"We would lose them," Tyrion replied, "They made it this far without being stopped, whatever their goal is they might well reach it by the time we find them again, even with us on horseback and them on foot."

Daven leaned in close to him and his voice went low, "We are but fifty men Tyrion, and they have two hundred. What do you hope to accomplish?"

"I just need to see what they're after," Tyrion said quietly, "If it's mere plunder we'll fall back, if it's something more…" he sighed, "we'll decide what to do then." Daven's face was grim but he nodded and began barking orders. A few minutes later they were on the move again, a sense of unease coming over them.

As they came over a slight hill the enemy force was visible on the horizon, as were the small flying creatures serving as their scouts. Tyrion watched and waited for the orcs to pivot towards them, but they never did. _They_ have _to see us now,_ he thought. Sure enough several of the flying orcs did eventually come closer, though still staying out of bow range. As the hours of pursuit dragged on he began to wonder when they would stop, _They can't possibly keep up this pace forever, what is their hurry?_

"Tyrion," Daven said, riding close to him, "we need to stop and rest the horses."

He spared a glance at the orcs and swore under his breath, "Do it, they'll have trouble losing us with a few hour's lead, especially in a land this flat." They made a quick camp, rather than the relaxed atmosphere of the previous few nights this time they were ringed by the men with bows, watching the skies uncertainly.

Rerir flapped his wings wide and flew over to Tyrion, perching on a nearby horse's saddle, "Something drives them," he rasped, "no orcs would run so far so fast unless they were on a mission of great importance."

"I agree wholeheartedly," Tyrion said, taking a bit of tack from his saddlebag. He bit into the rough bread with a grimace, food was always worse when traveling, but this was something special. He finally forced the bread down and turned to the bird again, "Will you spy on them again for us? I know it will be dangerous…"

The bird cawed, a sound Tyrion had grown to recognize as a laugh, "Of course!" Rerir said, "These flying orc-things are slow, far slower than I, they caught me unawares is all…"

"If you say so," Tyrion said, turning back towards his horse.

"The riddle," the bird barked suddenly, causing Tyrion to stop, "you never said what the answer was. What tradesman's art is appreciated the longest? Longer than the smith, the mason, or the carpenter."

"A gravedigger," Tyrion said, "for his work is appreciated forever."

"A dark thing to say," The bird muttered uncertainly.

"A dark riddle for dark times," he replied.

They rested for another hour before moving again. They were careful to stay just within sight of the orcs, but at no point did outriders from either force engage one another. Eventually night fell, and Daven, certain that the orcs would strike in the dark, ordered half the men to stand watch while the other half slept. No attack came, and in the morning they found that the orcs had gone in the night while they rested.

"How did two hundred orcs depart without any of you seeing?" Daven yelled angrily.

"They lit no fires," one man began, "we were worried that the flying ones would come in the dark so we kept close to camp…"

Daven sighed, "Very well, have the scouts fan out, we will have to find them again." As he said it Rerir landed on his shoulder again, causing him to flinch, "Must you alwayscome to me?"

The bird cocked his head, "You seem a brave sort, if a little slow, and with the beard you remind me of my friends from home."

Daven sighed, "Very well, what do you want?"

"I can join the hunt for these orcs, in these open lands they will be easy to spot from above."

"Go then," Daven replied, "but be careful this time!"

"I can go far higher than those foul things," The raven spat back, and with a flourish of his wings Rerir took off and went high into the sky.

They moved to the Northeast, as the orcs had, and in time several of the scouts returned, saying they had not seen the enemy. Finally Rerir returned, flying across the blue sky towards them.

"Dark wings dark words," Daven muttered as the bird descended towards them.

"They are just beyond that next ridge!" Rerir said excitedly, landing on Daven's shoulder, "They are fighting!"

"Fighting!?" Tyrion exclaimed, "Against whom? There is no force of Rohirrim left in the Wold!"

"Men of Rhun!" the bird replied, "their banner held the Diamond and the Eye!"

"Easterlings?" Tyrion asked, "how many?"

"Perhaps a dozen," Rerir said, "maybe twenty, no more than that."

"I thought they weren't coming until winter," Daven said, "are you sure they were fighting?"

"Several had already fallen," the bird said, "A raven knows the smell of blood."

 _Why would Easterlings fight with orcs?_ "Lead us there," he said, "If our enemies have found a quarrel with one another I'd like to see proof with my own eyes."

Rerir flew before the riders, guiding them over the rolling grass. After they had ridden for perhaps a half hour Tyrion saw a banner waving in the wind amidst a number of downed figures. As they rode towards it he could see the diamond shape the raven had described sitting below the familiar red eye. They slowed as they approached, a number of corpses were strewn about, though most had fallen together in what might have been a line of battle.

"They never stood a chance," Daven said, looking around, "they died well though, they took maybe twice their number to the Hells with them."

"This one's still alive!" Crakehall shouted as he dismounted. Tyrion rode towards him and saw that one of the bodies lying on the ground was still breathing. He was wearing scaled armor and a sloped helm that left his face exposed, a number of strange runes were carved on his armor and his shield had a scorpion sigil emblazed on it. As Tyrion moved closer he saw that the man had almond shaped eyes and straight black hair, like the girl Mel had in Umbar so long ago.

" _Shuo dong fang_?" the man rasped as he looked up at them.

"Do any of these riders speak this tongue?" Tyrion asked Daven, but he was interrupted by the man on the ground.

"It was too much to wish that you spoke Rhûnic," the man rasped, shifting himself upright as he clasped the banner, "I bleed too much, I will die soon."

Tyrion dismounted his horse, Shagga, and Bronn did the same as they moved towards the man, "You are an Easterling?" Tyrion asked uncertainly.

The man chuckled, wincing in pain, "Yes, that is what Westrons call us." He glanced around at them, "You are the horselords…" he coughed and flecks of blood stained the front of his armor.

"Answer our questions and we will ease your suffering," Tyrion said, "why were you here, across the Anduin? Why did your company fight with the orcs?"

" _You!"_ the Easterling said with a smile, "We sought the halflings… we knew they would come here soon, and here you are!" he tried to say something further but was wracked by another coughing fit.

"You were after _me_?" Tyrion asked, shocked, "why?"

"You stole what was the master's," the Easterling said, "he wants it back, the Wizard wants it too."

"Saruman has turned against Mordor?" Tyrion asked.

"He betrays us all it seems," the Easterling said quietly, "I will speak no more of that… A man must have honor, even at the end." He leaned back, "My family… we had words we said at great occasions, at battles, births… would you hear them?"

"Say your words," Crakehall said, drawing his sword.

The Easterling smiled, "We heard some among you practiced the codes, that you had words of your own... I had hoped to cross blades with these warriors."

"House Crakehall," the knight said as he raised his sword, "None so Fierce!"

"Yessss…" the Easterling rasped. A pained grin came over his face as sweat beaded on his forehead, "I go now to prepare for the final battle, we will meet there someday." He sucked in a final gasp of air, "The Family Iwai! The Last to Fall!" His cry was cut short as Lyle Crakehall stabbed him through the chest, piercing his armor and ending his life.

"The Last to Fall…" Crakehall muttered, nodding.

"What do a dead man's words matter?" Shagga asked, moving to his side.

"You haven't been a knight very long Shagga, son of Dolf," Crakehall remarked as he walked back towards his horse. Shagga just grunted and rolled his eyes in response.

"He said they were looking for halflings," Daven said, "perhaps we should get you away from here."

"I don't think I've done enough harm to the enemy to warrant a hunt like this," Tyrion replied, "You said that Joffrey searched for a ring among small folk didn't you?"

"Hobbits," Daven said, "Shirefolk, they're about your height."

 _The Nazgul, orcs, and now Easterlings as well,_ he thought to himself, _They're after The One, that much is certain…_

"Well what now?" Daven asked, interrupting his thoughts, "I won't pretend I understand why everyone is looking for this ring, but it's important isn't it? Something worth fighting over?"

"More than you could possibly imagine," Tyrion replied. We must keep after them, at least until they reach the Anduin."

"These men lying here in the dirt were experienced, well-armed too," Bronn said, "What do you hope to accomplish by chasing these beasts? Even if they find the trinket you're looking for do you think we can take it from them?"

"I mean to try," he said as the sellsword helped him onto his horse again, "though perhaps we'll be lucky enough to find this band of orcs is simply lost," the words were hollow, he already knew they weren't true. _No more chance encounters..._

 **A/N: And it's back!  
**

 **Oliver V - Cerenna's first few chapters are a bit slower paced, DC79 wanted her as a POV to explore cultural and religious aspects of the war, along with a view of how things were going on the home front.**

 **Lord Razer - Saruman's more prepared than in canon, but so is Rohan so he can't get quite as big as you'd think. Talion might get a reference like the War in the North characters got, but again bringing in the video game characters as major players this late in the story is a bit much so they probably won't get much more than a name drop or two.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - The Rohirrim will be dealing with both Saruman and the Easterlings, though as this chapter showed those two factions are hardly on the best of terms themselves.**

 **Window Girl - Joffrey's memory will haunt Cersei for a long while, but no matter what else he was he was her son. Characters close to her recognize that.**

 **Aisarikka - thanks and welcome to the story!**

 **Ceies - Glad you like it, I'll probably do a Jaime POV to "check in" on him, Eomer, and Forlong before getting to the next big battle, so don't worry! There's so many characters in this thing that sometimes we don't see one of them for awhile!**

 **Sasswott2000 - there's a lot of potential for a fic in this "style" I think, and I wouldn't be offended if anyone decided to "steal" the idea, if anything I encourage it! One that they wanted on Spacebattles was Jon Snow's Night's Watch + The Wall appearing during Arnor's war with Angmar, though I think the Witch King would probably be even more of a handful than the wights were.**


	103. XCIX The Kingslayer

**XCIX**

 **The Kingslayer**

Although he'd wanted a private coronation inside Casterly Rock his aunt and uncle had made hasty preparations for a public spectacle atop the gates of Lannisport. It had still been a rushed affair, the smallfolk had gathered inside the city to watch from one side of the wall while the army, ready to march, had waited on the other. He'd waited on the battlements with Genna, Stafford, and a few others as the High Septon had arrived and began a speech about the will of the gods and the nature of rule. Looking down among the soldiers he saw Forlong, sitting atop his massive horse. Their eyes met a moment before he turned back to the High Septon.

"And so it is on this day that in the sight of Gods and men the Kingdom of Casterly Rock and the Westerlands anoints a new king, Tywin Lannister, son of Tytos Lannister." He paused and raised a simple gold circlet high, "In his absence we crown his son and heir, Jaime Lannister." He paused and looked at Jaime expectantly.

Jaime just stared back at him, _what is he waiting for-_

"Kneel Jaime," his uncle Stafford said in a loud whisper behind him.

Realizing his mistake he quickly stepped forward and knelt on one knee, "Perhaps we should have practiced this," the high Septon said in an amused tone. He continued, shouting again so those below could hear, "Do you swear to protect these lands and their people, to rule justly, and to honor the teachings of the Seven?"

 _No going back now,_ "I do," he said loudly. With that the High Septon placed the crown on his head, causing the smallfolk inside the wall and the soldiers outside to erupt into a deafening cheer. The High Septon smiled and placed a hand under his arm to help him back up, Jaime was perfectly capable of rising on his own, but he let the other man help him, understanding the symbolism of the gesture. He walked toward the gatehouse, Stafford, Genna, and the rest followed him as he entered the spiral stairwell.

He pulled the crown off of his head as soon as he was out of sight of the crowds, "Which one of you is taking this?" he said, gesturing it back towards his relatives.

"I suppose I will find a resting place for it in the Rock until your return," Stafford said with a sigh, "Are you sure you won't take it with you? As a symbol of the royal family at least?"

"A symbol?" Jaime scoffed, "Who will recognize a crown that's only been in use for a day?"

"It's an authentic pre-conquest piece!" Stafford protested.

Genna sighed, "If he doesn't want to take it with him we can't make him Stafford, if he needs to prove his identity Gods know he's famous over half the world for that sword of his." Stafford muttered something under his breath but relented and took the Crown from Jaime's hand.

"Are you sure you don't want to join the campaign uncle?" Jaime asked as they reached the ground level, "I'm sure Genna and Emmet can watch over the Rock if you'd like to be closer to the front."

"Bugger that," Stafford said, "I'm done with battles. Do you know what they're calling me in the streets?"

"Oh here he goes," Genna muttered.

"Ser Stafford the sure-footed!" His uncle said loudly, "I commanded during one of the greatest victories in the history of the Westerlands, and that's how they thank me?!"

"Dreadful," Jaime said in an amused tone, "I would speak to the people on your behalf but I'm afraid I have a war to get back to." He walked outside and through the open gate, as he appeared the people began cheering again, he smiled and waved briefly as he left the city. In the first line of soldiers Forlong and Eomer waited, his own horse saddled and prepared for him. Cerenna was there too, opting to say her goodbye to Prince Eomer rather than appear above during the ceremony with her father.

"I have something for you to remember me by," she said as she withdrew a small locket.

Eomer leaned down to take it, as he held it in front of his face he noticed the small latch on the side and opened it. He smiled and laughed, turning it to show Forlong.

"What is it?" Jaime asked, climbing onto his own horse.

"It's a portrait!" Eomer said, passing it to Jaime. He opened the locket to see a miniature painting of his cousin.

"It was difficult to get it finished in time," Cerenna said with a smile, "many ladies had commissioned similar pieces for their husbands and sweethearts… but I provided a small "bonus" that convinced him to complete mine first."

"Devious," Eomer laughed as he took the locket back from Jaime. His face grew serious, "I will send for you as soon as it is safe to travel between here and Edoras."

"I eagerly await your summons my prince," she said, doing an exaggerated curtsey. She rose and gave him a final smile, "Take care of yourself."

Eomer nodded and the three of them began riding away towards the front of the army. A number of men shouted various encouragements and congratulations to them, some aimed at him, others at Eomer, and at least one knight seemed to recognize Forlong, adding "Goblinsbane" to his name as he greeted them, causing the old man to grin broadly.

"Rather lively for men about to spend a day marching," Jaime remarked.

"There was a bit of wine being passed around," Eomer said, "I asked Lord Westerling to keep things under control, but it's not every day a man sees a king crowned."

"Prince," Jaime corrected, "my father is the king."

"You'll be king someday," Forlong said, "I think that's enough to get most of your countrymen excited." He paused a moment, "That was quite the speech that High Septon fellow gave, touching really."

"Was it?" Jaime asked, "I had other things on my mind."

Forlong scowled, "Now that you're a prince you might get used to listening when men talk about matters other than battle and swordplay."

Jaime shrugged, "Maybe," another thought struck him and he turned towards Eomer, "Stafford isn't quite taken with his new nickname, we should probably find someone to take the blame for it before he finds out it was us."

Eomer groaned, "I've been involved in far too many Westerosi schemes already, if it comes back to me I'll blame my third or fourth drink at the victory feast."

As they reached the front of the column he saw Podrick Payne, Eomer's squire, was waiting with a large green banner depicting the familiar white stallion. He seemed nervous and a moment later Jaime saw why, Ilyn Payne was on a horse next to the boy, looking grim as ever.

"M-my Uncle Ser Ilyn has decided to join the march my lords!" Podrick stuttered.

"Has he now?" Jaime asked, eyeing the silent knight. Payne only shrugged in response.

"That's fantastic!" Forlong exclaimed, "A warrior like you shouldn't be wasted playing palace guard Ser Ilyn! Ride with us!"

Jaime was about to say something about that, but Ser Ilyn's impassive stare cut him off. "Let's be off," he said instead, and as he spurred his horse forward the army began the march north.

As they marched on the road to the Crag Jaime found himself in good spirits. Eomer and Forlong rode with him at the front of the column most of the time, Ilyn Payne usually close behind. Forlong's wound was still healing, and the big man needed help getting on and off his horse, but his energy had mostly returned. With most of the army now made up of campaign veterans making camp was an easy thing, and between that and Eomer's help he found that when they stopped to rest at the end of the day there was little he was needed for. He was walking through the tents one day when he came across a small clearing where Eomer was standing across from Podrick Payne, a blunt practice sword in his hand.

"What's going on here?" Jaime asked.

"Now that my knee is better Prince Eomer is teaching me swordplay!" Payne said excitedly.

"Evidently that's something you're supposed to teach a squire," Eomer said, "Now stay balanced like I showed you and attempt to avoid my strikes!" he moved forward, causing Podrick's eyes to go wide. The prince made a series of intentionally wide and slow slashes which Podrick sidestepped and ducked away from.

"What good is it to practice so slow?" Podrick asked uncertainly.

"You need to learn the technique," Jaime cut in, "when you're ready he'll go faster, and then eventually he'll go as fast as he can." He frowned a moment, "Prince Eomer, let me stand in a round." Eomer shrugged and handed him the blunted blade. Podrick gulped and steadied himself, "Don't be nervous," Jaime said, "I'm not Jaime Lannister, I'm some bandit, maybe an orc. I'm not a great swordsman, just a panicked foe trying to cut you down."

Podrick nodded, "Y-yes Prince Jaime."

Jaime came at him with a similar set of exaggerated strikes, but this time after the second dodge he struck with his foot, kicking the boy in the shin. Podrick cried out, more in surprise than pain, but as he did Jaime brought the slowed strike into his side, causing him to look down, wide eyed.

"Watch your opponent's entire body, if your eyes follow the tip of his blade that will be his only attack you see coming."

"Good advice," Eomer agreed, taking the practice sword back from Jaime, "Let's try this again and then I'll teach you a few falls…"

This began a routine for Jaime, after camp was set he would seek out Eomer and Podrick's training sessions and add his own opinions and advice. Sometimes Forlong came with him, though the man preferred axes and blunt weapons to swords. A few others occasionally joined them as well, Lord Westerling, the Tarbeck bastard, and even Ser Ilyn, though the most commentary he ever offered was a slight nod.

As the army passed through the Westerlands Jaime began to get a measure of the damage that Joffrey's army had caused. Bones of animals, and sometimes of people, lay picked clean on the side of the road. At one point they'd come across a pair of skeletons that had been thrown on the side of the road, the flesh stripped from them.

"I saved as many as I could," Eomer said quietly, "I sent riders everywhere I could afford to, drove as many of the people before us as our food and beasts could manage…"

"You did more than anyone could have possibly asked of you," Jaime said bitterly, "if not for you our path would be paved with the bodies of the dead." _And in any event It was_ my _deeds that caused this, not yours…_ he sighed and rode ahead of the column a few dozen paces, wanting to be alone with his thoughts. His wish was denied as he heard the clodding hooves of Forlong's warhorse.

"Don't let yourself be overcome by grief and regret," the other man said quietly, "the road is long yet, looking back won't help you reach the end."

He didn't respond, but he slowly fell back among the other lords at the front of the army. That night he forced himself to attend Podrick's sword instruction. Forlong was waiting there, and nodded at him as he began giving the boy instruction on how to block a strike. He found that his mood improved as the lesson went on, and by the time he was walking back to his tent that night he was feeling better.

They finally reached the Crag, and Lord Westerling insisted on stopping to examine his house seat. He and a few of his retainers had been the only ones inside, but when they returned a half hour later the man's face was beet red.

"It had just been _repaired!"_ he shouted angrily, "Wine! I need wine gods damn it!"

Another week of marching brought them to the Banefort, it had fared a bit better than the Crag had, and they stopped to bury the body of Lord Banefort in his ancestral plot behind the castle. They spent two days foraging for supplies before the army first entered into the open expanse of Enedwaith.

"Finally we will be back in open country," Eomer said with a smile, "there were times I worried I'd never see the prairie again!"

"Was the Westerlands really so terrible?" Jaime asked, looking over the empty landscape, "this just looks… empty."

Eomer sighed, "Ser Jaime, I mean no offense, I have gained many friends in these lands, and met the woman I love here… but after everything that's happened it's going to be a _very_ long time before I visit them again."

Forlong laughed, "That's just the nature of adventures Prince Eomer! You risk one every time you leave home!"

"And much like illness they come at a time you can scarcely afford them," Eomer replied.

A few days later as they marched north they came to the first true landmark as Jaime could tell, the River Isen.

"There's a shallow point near the fork where we can cross it and pass to the north," Eomer explained, "From there we will need to either take the fords of Isen or besiege Isengard itself if we wish to enter Rohan."

"Then we will avenge your cousin Theodred at the Fords of Isen," Jaime replied, "we will need to coordinate our attack with your sister's army and we'll need the Fords to do it."

Eomer nodded, "When the Fords are taken I will go and lead the Riddermark, Eowyn has done well, but the time has come for me to retake command."

"Will she ride with us to Isengard?" Jaime asked, "From what my brother's written she's proven quite impressive on the battlefield."

"She is of Rohan," Eomer said, "The shieldmaidens must be prepared to defend their homesteads while the men are away… but now they have returned. She will be free to take up other duties in support of the war. She is a gentle soul, she shouldn't have to fight in this war."

Before Jaime could respond a horseman approached them, a scout judging by his light armor, "Prince Jaime!" the man began, "We've spotted a force on the other side of the river, perhaps fifteen miles from here."

He and Eomer exchanged looks, "Orcs?" Jaime asked.

"No," the scout continued, "Men, and they're flying House Clegane's banners."

"Clegane banners?!" Jaime asked in shock, "So the Hound has shown himself again, turned to banditry no doubt. How many are there?"

"Over five hundred," the scout said, "It's… difficult to get a precise count, some of them are rather small."

"Dwarves perhaps?" Eomer wondered.

"Maybe," Jaime muttered, "If Clegane _has_ rallied hundreds of men around him we could use them, and Clegane himself would be an asset too. He knows me, I'll try to talk some sense into him…"

"Is he dangerous?" Eomer asked.

"He's one of the few men in the Seven Kingdoms who could give me a real fight," Jaime replied, "but if it comes to that we'll scatter his rabble easily enough."

Later that day as the sun began its descent towards the horizon the force across the river came into view. As the scout had said they were flying the familiar yellow banners of House Clegane, the three black dogs fluttering the breeze. There was a sudden commotion on the far side of the river and a group of the figures carried a makeshift raft to the water front.

"I think they're coming over here," Eomer said, "Maybe this will be easier than you thought."

"What's going on?" Forlong said, riding up to them, "I heard there was a bandit troupe on the far side of the river!"

"We're about to find out," Jaime said, pointing ahead of them. The raft was almost to their side of the river now, several larger figures were paddling as a smaller one guided the path of the raft with a large pole. A few moments later the group had reached the shore and began walking towards them.

A knight Jaime didn't recognize rode up next to them, "Should we detain them Prince Jaime?" he asked.

Jaime regarded the approaching figures, "No, if they're hostile I think Prince Eomer and I can handle them, besides what fools would attack when we've got over twenty thousand men at our backs?" The knight seemed unsure, but he fell back with the rest of the army.

The four figures were only a dozen paces in front of them now, one was a tall man with a bow slung across his back. Two he recognized as elves, though they seemed less impressive than the one who'd healed him at Osgiliath, fair faces and sharp eyes to be sure, but there was something less… majestic about these two. The final emissary was one he'd thought to be no more than a child, but he could see now he was just small. Atop the little man's head sat a boiled leather cap, a red feather tucked into a small notch on the side.

The parties regarded one another a moment before Jaime decided to speak, "Greetings," he began, "With whom do I speak?"

"Give me your name Westerman," the tall man said, "And I will give you mine."

Eomer dismounted from his horse, Jaime and Forlong did the same, "It seems to me that we hold the advantage here," Eomer said, "What is your business in these lands?"

"What is yours?" the man retorted.

"Oh come now," Forlong said in an exasperated tone, "We're leading a bloody _army_ lads, it's plain to anyone with any sense that we're marching to war."

"Judging by your direction you march against Isengard or against Rohan," one of the elves said suddenly, "Which is your friend and which is your foe?"

"We march against Isengard," Eomer said firmly, "I am Prince Eomer of Rohan, this is Prince Jaime Lannister of the Westerlands, and Lord Forlong of Lossarnach."

"Well met," The man said, "I am Halbarad, leader of the Grey Company of the Dunedain, these two," he gestured at the elves, "are Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of Elrond Halfelven."

"And I'm head Shire-Shirriff Robin Smallburrow, commander of the Shire Expeditionary Force!" the little man said, stepping forward and stretching out a hand. Jaime took it, fighting to keep the amusement off his face as they shook hands.

"And what is an expeditionary force from the Shire doing here?" Eomer asked.

"The Shire and the town of Bree were attacked by orcs out of Isengard," Halbarad explained, "Bree was occupied by the Wizard's ruffians. We drove them away with help from the hobbits-"

"The what?" Forlong interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

"Hobbits!" Smallburrow cut in, "Shire-folk like me!"

"With help from the hobbits we were able to liberate the town," Halbarad continued, "sometime after that I received a message that my kinsman Aragorn had called for aid in the wars to the South."

"And Thain Paladin Took the second ordered me to assemble a force to accompany them and bring Saruman the White to Justice!" Smallburrow finished.

"You were going to war with Isengard with a few hundred men and hobbits?" Eomer asked as he scanned their camp across the river.

The hobbit seemed embarrassed, "Well we believed we'd find other enemies of the Wizard whom we could join with."

"And you have," Jaime said, "but that doesn't explain what you're doing this far south."

"We went south along the old road," Elrohir said, "but we were seen by the Wizard's spies, a force of Dunlendings nearly thrice our size pursued us off the road and South for six days. They stopped chasing us on the seventh, but by then we were in lands we did not know. We resolved to find the river and follow it to Rohan."

"Any foe of the Wizard is welcome in our ranks," Eomer said, "if you agree to it we can march to the crossing and join forces.

"It's settled then," Halbarad said, "we'll return to our comrades and explain the plan. Farewell." The four of them walked back towards their raft.

"I have one final question," Jaime said suddenly, "Why do you fly that banner? The one with the three dogs?"

"It's Ser Sandor Clegane's!" The hobbit said proudly, "He fought to save the Shire in our darkest hour! When the time came to choose a banner for the Shire it was an easy choice! He's something of a hero back home these days."

Jaime's brow furrowed as they continued to their raft, _A hero? Sandor Clegane?_

"Something on your mind Jaime?" Forlong asked as Eomer left, shouting orders to begin marching again.

"Sandor Clegane isn't the type of man I'd expect to have well-wishers, especially among folk like that," he replied.

"Perhaps you're not the only one looking to amend past mistakes," Forlong commented.

Jaime just frowned and nodded, watching as the Clegane banner waved in the breeze.

 **A/N: I thought it would be a good idea to get Jaime and the other Westerlands characters caught up, also our Shire friends have re-entered the story!**

 **Lord Razer - Tywin's reaction to Jaime's tale would probably be disbelief, even if Joanna appeared to him he'd probably assume it was a hallucination, though it would make him think about his kids and the things he's put them through.**

 **Quelthias - The ring might have left some mark on Tyrion, but it's not nearly as strong as The One and Tyrion didn't have it for too long. He knows that rings of power are bad news though.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - well here's Jaime and Eomer at least!**

 **PrincessArien - glad you liked the omake, I'm going to try and get another one done soon here, though obviously the main story takes priority.**

 **Guest - The men of the east weren't wholly evil by any means, but they did serve Sauron. Here I'm trying to show them in a more positive light than some incarnations, but they're still bad guys.**

 **Noob6 - Probably not, I think a Sauron POV would ruin some of the mystery behind him and his movements.**

 **ATP - The confrontation is going to be a lot crazier than in canon for sure.**


	104. C The Captain of Gondor

**C**

 **The Captain of Gondor**

Boromir waited on the edge of the large tent while Tywin Lannister inspected the men he'd chosen for the raid. His gaze hovered a moment on Timett son of Timett, but he nodded and moved on. Though most of the chosen men were rangers of Ithilien a few of Marbrand's better scouts had made his list, as had the one eyed clansman.

When he was finished he faced them all, "If you are here that means that you have been chosen by Captain Boromir for a mission requiring stealth and violence. The task before you will take you into the heart of the enemy camp. If any of you cannot face this leave immediately." The men glanced at one another, but none left the tent. Tywin nodded and turned to Boromir, "It seems you've chosen well."

"These are the best men of both armies," Boromir replied, moving to Tywin's side.

"And you still intend to lead them yourself?" the Lannister king asked quietly.

"I do," Boromir said firmly, "I can't ask a man to do what I myself am afraid to." He regarded Tywin a moment, "Your own son often risks his life on the front lines of battle does he not?"

Tywin had no response to that, instead he signaled a guard waiting at the edge of the tent who nodded before exiting the tent. He returned a moment later with another pair of men pushing several carts of armor. From the red and gold colors Boromir had at first thought it was Lannister platemail, but as it came closer he saw the jagged scales and realized that these pieces had been taken from the bodies of dead Easterlings.

"These have been cleaned and repaired, they will appear as new to anyone who sees them," Tywin explained. He walked forward and picked up one of the helmets, "The orcs camp inside the city ruins while the Easterlings and Haradrim do so outside of the walls. We are fortunate that most of the Easterlings fight with their faces obscured, it should be easy enough for properly attired men to infiltrate their camp." He tossed the helmet back onto the pile where it fell with a clang.

"And how do we get into their camp?" one of the rangers asked, "Even with perfect disguises they'll know better than to let men from our side of the river reach theirs."

"Bands of men enter their camp daily," Tywin replied, "You will go a few miles north and cross the river there. You will be merely another group marching here for the battle to come."

"And what will they make of Easterlings speaking the common tonuge?" One of the Westerlands scouts asked quietly.

"I'll do the speaking for us," Boromir said, "I speak Rhunic and Southron, but I don't think we'll have to answer too many questions."

"What do you want us to do?" Timett growled, moving to examine the armor.

"I often hear laughter echoing over the river from their camp," Tywin said in a low voice, "I believe they're enjoying themselves, why shouldn't they? I'm sure this campaign has afforded them an opportunity to visit with friends and family they haven't seen in ages. The prisoners say that most of the leaders dine together in a large tent in the center of camp each night, from what they told us it's a rather raucous affair…" His face darkened and he looked at them, "Tonight I don't want to hear any laughter."

Boromir withdrew a parchment from his belt, "The prisoners have given us a rough layout of the camp," he explained as he unrolled it, "We will make our way to the center tent. The banquet starts just after sunset every night."

"What if these prisoners lied to you?" a ranger asked suddenly.

"They didn't," Timett said with a smile, "the goats ate well."

"Several men told us the same set of details," Boromir said, trying to ignore the other man's savage grin. "When we are finished we will light a single arrow and fire it over the river as a signal."

"When we see it a dozen boats will depart from this side of the river to retrieve you," Tywin finished.

"Let us begin then," Timett muttered, placing the helmet over his head. The rest of the men took his lead and began donning the Easterling armor. Boromir reached for his own, but Tywin stopped him.

"This is what their leaders wear," he explained, handing Boromir a silver helmet from the pile. He paused a moment and took a small satchel out of his pocket. He held it up and undid the string, revealing a handful of purple crystals within. "This is a poison the Maesters call the Strangler," Tywin explained, "It dissolves rapidly in liquids and has no taste, though the crystal can also be crushed into a powder and swallowed for the desired effect."

"And what would that be?" Boromir asked.

"It swells the throat closed," Tywin said, "There's enough there to kill several dozen men in a few moments. I am giving it to you so that you may have _all_ options available."

"I doubt I will have need of that," Boromir said quietly, "if we are discovered I will die before I am captured."

"An easy thing to say in the comfort of your own camp," Tywin replied, "take it with you or allow someone else to lead this mission, someone who doesn't know as many dangerous secrets." Boromir's eyes narrowed, but he took the satchel anyways before donning the silver helmet.

Looking around the tent he saw that the rest of the men had finished armoring themselves. He gestured for them to follow him outside. The tent had been arranged outside the walls of Osgiliath, and in the late afternoon sun the white city was shining brightly over the Pelennor Fields. To one side Ser Addam Marbrand waited, beckoning a series of covered wagons towards them.

"At least a few eyes on their side of the river will be watching," Marbrand explained as the first of the wagons stopped, "if they see a band of their own soldiers march out of here it will arouse suspicion, you need to get at least a few miles away before marching around in that stuff." He opened one of the wagons, revealing a number of Easterling scimitars and recurve bows within, "Those eastern smiths know what they're doing," Marbrand commented, grabbing one of the swords and hefting it in his hand, "Moreso than most of the orcs anyways, I think I fought one at Osgiliath who was using a stick covered in nails…"

Boromir took the curved blade from him, turning it over and feeling the balance. It wasn't a bad blade at all, but he already knew from bitter experience that weapons from Rhun were well forged and well cared for. He grabbed a scabbard and slide the sword into it before climbing into the wagon. A few moments later they were loaded and ready to go, he felt a lurch as they began moving.

The journey was quiet, and they passed north along the Anduin without incident. They slowly rolled to a stop an hour later. Marbrand opened the back flap of the wagon and gestured for them to exit, as they did so Boromir could see the sun beginning to dip low in the sky, sunset would come soon.

"The boats are right down this way," he said quietly, "I don't see any of their scouts on the far side, it should be safe to cross."

As they exited the wagon and followed Marbrand down the riverbank towards the docked fishing boats he took a moment to survey the East bank himself. He saw no movement, nor any other sign of the enemy. They boarded the boats and, bidding farewell to Ser Marbrand, began slowly rowing across the river. As they reached the other side he slowly lead them up into a level clearing.

"Form into a column," He shouted, "When I say _Vos_ you march, when I say _Van_ you stop, understood?" he looked back at the men, who nodded. He couldn't tell them apart in the Easterling armor and he began to realize the importance of the silver helm designating him as a captain as they quickly formed into ranks. "Only I will speak," he said, "They have no reason to suspect you are anything other than men marching from Rhun to join the war, don't open your mouths and give them any cause to believe otherwise." He regarded them a moment, " _Vos!"_ He shouted, turning and walking back to the south. He was pleased to hear rhythmic steps behind him as they moved through the light forest towards a dirt road he knew would take them back south.

They marched as Easterlings over the dirt path, as he watched the trees on the sides of the road a thought struck him, _I hope that any rangers remaining on this side of the river know of our mission…_ but no arrows came flying out of the shadows into the side of his head, and in time they could see the tents and fires of the enemy encampment outside of the eastern half of Osgiliath.

He steeled himself mentally as they continued on, they were passing outriders and scouts now, a few nodded as they rode by, but most ignored them. _So far so good,_ he thought. Finally as they came near the edge of the camp a group of four men rode towards them, three wearing the same bronze colored armor as the rest of his men, and a leader wearing a silver helm as he was.

"Hail," the man barked in the guttural Easterling tongue, "From what city do you march?"

"Sliktor," he responded, naming the only city of the far east that he knew of.

"Sliktor's legions were to march north," the man replied, "Is your band without a leader?" _Without a leader?_ Boromir was beginning to realize the limitations of his Rhunic, before he could respond the man waved dismissively, "Worry not, you can go to the chief orc tomorrow and he will choose where you will go."

"Chief orc?" he asked hesitantly.

"The one called Gothmog," the Easterling replied, "He decides what bands are joined to each warlord, tell him how many men you have and what weapons they carry and he will put you where you are needed."

"Thank you," Boromir replied, perhaps a bit more formal than he'd intended, for the man cocked his head slightly.

"Before you set your tents see to your spirit," the Easterling pointed to a large black tent a few hundred paces from them, a swirling white smoke leaked from holes in the roof. The other man dismounted, "I will take you there myself, the seer is a friend."

 _I can't be separated from the others!_ "My men-"

"Tell them to wait, it will not take long."

"Wait here!" he shouted in the Easterling language again, though he could tell from the reactions only a few of the rangers understood it, _Watch them and wait,_ he thought desperately.

He walked toward the black tent with the other man, "I am Ragast," he said, "of the family Ashira,"

"Yumruk," he said, "of the family Sacal."

"Sliktor is far indeed," Ragast said as he opened the tent flap for Boromir, "for words of your deeds do not reach my ears."

 _A slight or an admission of ignorance?_ Boromir decided he didn't care as he ducked inside the dim interior of the tent. A powerful aroma assaulted his nostrils, it was a sweet woody smell, a mixture of pine and lemon. A large stone table sat in the center, atop it a black curtain covering something that appeared to be the outline of a massive human form, a hand stuck out from the corner of the shroud, and Boromir realized it was a corpse. Overlooking the body was a statute of an armored figure holding a hammer high, as though about to strike down on the figure's head. Boromir felt a chill go through him as he looked at the statue's eyes, a red liquid ran like tears from them down the side of the carved face.

" _Who enters Melkor's sight?"_ A voice rasped. Boromir looked to the back of the tent and his heart froze as a hooded figure stepped out of the shadows.

 _One of the Nine!_ he thought in a panic, he very nearly went for his sword, but stopped as the figure pulled back the hood, revealing a balding man with a chubby face. He moved toward them and the other Easterling dropped to his knees, Boromir quickly did the same.

"Rise my brothers," the man said. He smiled, somehow recognizing the other Easterling even with the helmet obscuring his face, "Ragast my friend, what brings you to me again so soon? You prostrated yourself only this morning-"

"A newcomer in the camp," Ragast said, "his spirit must be unburdened."

The Seer, for Boromir was sure that was who the cloaked man was, nodded, regarding Boromir, "It must… leave us Ragast, I will see to our new friend." Ragast bowed again before leaving the tent. "Remove the helmet and state your name," the Seer said as he began lighting a series of candles in the corners of the tent.

Boromir hesitated, he knew that drawings of him were sometimes passed between orcs and Haradrim, and that there was a reward for any man who killed him. _Has this man seen them?_ He wondered, _would he recognize me if he had? He is not a soldier…_

The Seer had finished his candles and was now looking at him expectantly, "I said remove your helm," the man repeated.

Slowly he removed the silver helmet Tywin Lannister had given him, revealing his face. He stared at the other man, searching for some sign of recognition, but he saw none, only a certain curiosity.

"A fair featured face," the Seer said, "rare in the far east, where I was born… though with so many bands gathered it's far from the only I've seen… Now your name."

"Yumruk, of the family Sacal," he said.

The Seer slowly walked around him, making Boromir uneasy, "Yumruk of the family Sacal," he repeated quietly, "The Great Lord seeks to enhance the greatest attributes of his servants, but all men must know their weaknesses. Follow me to the lights."

 _Lights?_ Hesitantly Boromir followed him until they were standing in front of the first of the candles the man had lit, the white wax flecked with grey. As they stood in front of it the flame suddenly vanished.

The Seer smiled, "You are without fear… that is a difficult thing for most men to overcome, rare it is to see this light go dark." They moved to the next one, made of pale blue wax this time, which flickered slightly before going out as well. "Free of doubt as well, you are sure of your path…" The next candle was colored gold, it stayed lit causing the Seer to frown. "You trust too much in your own strength, arrogance leads to complacence."

Boromir shifted uncomfortably, "I seek only to defeat Gondor in the name of the Dark Lord," he said, hoping that would appease the man.

"Perhaps," the seer muttered, "come," he led Boromir to the final candle, this one black. It too stayed lit, "You have another burden," the man muttered, "One which weighs heavily on you right now… a secret perhaps?"

Boromir's heart jumped, "No! I have no secrets."

The man raised an eyebrow, "Lies only become more secrets, causing ever more burdens." He waved dismissively at Boromir, "I have shown you your burdens, if you will not unload them that is your own failing."

Boromir, unsure of what to do, bowed again slightly and reached for his helmet, fastening it back into place. After having his face exposed in the enemy camp the cold steel against his face was the most pleasant feeling in the world.

Suddenly the form under the black shroud made a growling sound. The hand, which Boromir realized was wrinkled and black with decay, twitched slightly.

"Is he alive?" Boromir asked, moving back.

"They killed him long ago," The Seer said, moving towards the corpse, "Some months past this body was dragged out of the Anduin and brought to me… he was one of these new men we fight I think, they must have thrown his body into the river after some quarrel." Wind rustled the outside of the tent and the corpse lay still again. "A powerful form he had in life, and a hateful and tortured spirit he has in death… he lingers in this world, some unfinished business binding him here… I have done all I can. When the Lord of the Nazgul comes I will ask him what is to be done with this creature." He turned to Boromir, a small but terrifying smile on his face, "I hope to bring him _back._ "

Boromir felt a chill going up his spine, he knew well the tales of the abominations that dwelt in the tombs of Cardolan to the North. His eye caught sight of a ruined and rusted set of armor leaning against the side of the table the monstrosity was laying on. It had three dogs emblazoned on it, the center one torn outwards as though someone had shoved a broadsword through it.

 _No,_ he thought, _It couldn't be…_ Disgust and horror welled within him, _I should kill this man, kill him and burn this tent-_ There was a sudden commotion outside, _the men!_ Without saying another word to the cloaked man Boromir turned and left the tent. It seemed that a pair of men were arguing with one of his own.

"What is going on?" he barked in Rhunic.

"This man can't speak our tongue," one of the soldiers said. He pointed to one of the men, he turned to face Boromir, revealing a missing eye. _Timett,_ he thought.

"He is my brother," Boromir said suddenly, "he is slow, he speaks only a few words."

"Only a few words," Timett echoed, nodding. _Keep your mouth shut you bloody fool!_

"Fools belong in a circus, not on a battlefield," one of the Easterlings growled as they walked away.

He glared at Timett, "Vos!" he shouted, and the men began marching behind him again. The sun was setting quickly now, it would soon be dark. They didn't attract much, if any, attention as they walked through the camp. Most of the Easterlings were wearing some manner of armor, displaying their wealth and status in the form of baubles and decorations. Their party's unadorned and uniform pieces seemed less impressive the further they moved toward the center of the camp.

The sun dipped below the western horizon just as Boromir spotted the massive purple tent where the enemy leaders would be gathering for their nightly feast. He continued marching the men slowly in a loose circle through the camp as he observed it. _There are only a few guards,_ he thought, _if we simply rushed at it… No, we'd never get back to the river alive._ Men were starting to enter now, and he heard some scattered laughter from inside. He stopped the men near a group of tents that looked mostly vacant, deciding they would be able to stand near them without arousing suspicion.

"We could light it on fire," Timett whispered over his shoulder, "roast them alive…"

"No," Boromir muttered, "it will go up too slow, and we can't wait by it to cut them down as they leave…" He noticed a pair of men carrying a large spit-roasted pig into the tent, causing a cheer to erupt from within as they entered. He watched as the two exited again and walked to a small wooden structure with smoke billowing from a brick chimney. They left again a moment later, this time pushing a cart of breads.

"Timett," he whispered, "I'm going to that building over there, as soon as I leave send one man down to the riverfront to loose the signal arrow."

"What should the rest of us do?" he asked quietly, looking around.

"Be prepared for a distraction," he hissed back as he started towards the shack.

It didn't take him long to reach it, and as he opened the door his suspicions were confirmed. The shack was for food storage, a large firepit had been built beneath the chimney, and fat still sizzled on the coals where they'd removed the pig earlier. On one side of the wall he spotted what he was looking for, a pair of barrels. Prying the top off of one he saw that they were filled with wine. He removed the small satchel that Tywin had given him from his belt, opening it to see the collection of purple crystals within. He crushed his fist over the bag, crumbling the contents before pouring them into the wine barrel. _We will see how strong "the strangler" is,_ he thought as he replaced the lid.

He left quietly, seeing Timett and the men still standing on the far side of the small clearing around the central tent.

He was about halfway to them when a voice stopped him, "Is that Yumruk of Sliktor?" he recognized Ragast's voice as he turned to see the other man, helmet now tucked under his shoulder, walking towards him with two others who had also removed their headgear.

"It is I," he said, glancing over the three of them. He could see now that Ragast was a darker skinned man, with a thick mustache running down to his jaw. Behind the three men he saw the pair of servants entering the food storage hut again, this time leaving with a barrel of wine. _I don't have time to talk to these three,_ he thought as they reached him.

"If you are going to the feast you should remove your helmet," Ragast said, "If you do not know anyone here I will announce you."

"Many thanks," Boromir replied, watching the servants bring the wine barrel into the tent, "but I am tired from the march, I will return to my men and rest."

"There is no better rest than wine and good food," Ragast replied, "come, we are too late to be served for the first toast, but there will be many more as the night goes on."

"I-I cannot," he stammered, searching for an excuse.

Ragast was eyeing him suspiciously now, "remove that helmet so that I may know the face of a man who refuses hospitality and friendship."

"I am sick," Boromir stammered, his accent was beginning to slip and he could tell the three men had caught it, "I must rest."

Ragast's hand went to the pommel of his sword, "Take off the helm or I will remove it with your head still inside."

Just as Boromir was about to draw his own sword and cut the other man down there was a shout from inside the tent, then another, and then an uproar, causing the three men confronting him to jerk their heads towards the central tent.

"Poison!" Someone shouted inside screamed in Southron, another man staggered through the front tent flaps, clutching his throat as his eyes bulged outward, he dropped to the dirt shaking.

"You!" Ragast shouted, pointing at him. The other man he drew his sword, but an arrow struck him in the chest as Timett and the others, still wearing the Easterling armor, ran towards Boromir. For his part he drew the curved blade and brought it up and across the throat of the first man and then down through the skull of the second, the man's shocked expression frozen in death. He wrested it free with a jerk of his arm.

"What now?" Timett asked as shouting began to carry through the camp.

"To the river!" Boromir shouted, _and hope by the Valar that our signal was sent and that it was seen!_

They ran together through the camp, not bothering to form ranks. There was chaos now, a number of men were running in the opposite direction, a few had the presence of mind to notice their flight, but outside of some shouting and pointing there was no organized attempt to stop them until they reached the riverbank.

The watchmen along the Anduin were shouting as they traded arrows with archers and crossbowmen on at least a dozen approaching boats, one pointed at them and shouted something, alerting the others. Boromir slid on the muddy riverbank, just barely avoiding an arrow that flew over his head. As he stood up he threw the silver helmet off, waving to the approaching boats as the rest of his men began fighting with the Easterling guards.

As first boat reached shore Boromir could see several hundred Easterlings coming out of the camp, armed and armored with eyes full of anger.

"Retreat!" he shouted, to his men as he ran leapt into one of the boats, "Fall back!".

"Good to see you're still in one piece!" he shifted himself upright to see Addam Marbrand, leveling a crossbow at one of the charging Easterlings. With a whooshing sound the bolt flew into the target's chest, causing him to stumble and fall. There was a lurch as they pushed off from the shore again, the rowers working as quickly as they could to bring them away from the shore.

With a start Boromir realized that several of the rangers were still on shore, "We have to go back!" he shouted, but Marbrand only shook his head as he loaded another crossbow bolt.

"It's too late, we got most of you out, that's a damn sight better than I expected but I'm not pressing my luck." He loosed another bolt as the remaining rangers were surrounded and cut down.

Boromir sighed, he knew the knight was correct, but it still pained him. Arrows were still landing in the water near them, and as Boromir looked over the boats he saw at least a few men had been struck, causing some to tumble into the water.

"That felt bloody good," Marbrand muttered, "How many did you get?"

"I poisoned their wine," Boromir replied. "I'm guessing at least a few of the leaders are dead." They'd moved out of range of the enemy's bows now, and he tried to peer at the other boats in the darkness to see which of his men had survived. He sighed and gave up after a moment or two.

"I suppose it doesn't really matter how many so long as you got some," Marbrand said, watching the shoreline, "the important thing is that they're scared and we can tell the men we put fear of the gods back into them." He smiled, a toothy grin that reflected the moonlight, "Feels damned good to hit back for a change."

"It does," Boromir admitted as they drew close to their own bank of the river, _But what good is it to kill more of Sauron's pawns when there are thousands more waiting to take their place?_ He frowned silently as cheering greeted their ships.

 **A/N: CHAPTER 100! WOOH! Anyways I was going to double post this with another "A Roar Unheard" omake, but it ended up being a lot longer than I thought it would be.**

 **Mickj6 - There will be some more necromancy and more eastern allies coming in.**

 **Bakkhughan - oddly Clegane would probably be the first one to try and talk them out of marching halfway across the world to fight a war, and he definitely would think it odd that the Shire was flying his colors.**

 **Wen. Villejos - The hobbits would be offended at being called cute, but they kind of are haha.**

 **Mr I hate znt nobles kill them - No it's not the original Lannister Crown, but it is a plain one predating the conquest. They chose it for Jaime's prince's crown, Tywin will be getting a royal crown made for him.**

 **Jackalope89 - Sandor never cared for the trappings of nobility, but he does enjoy certain privileges like trial by combat and the freedom to be violent when he wants to be.**

 **Silverscripter - thanks, Jaime's learned a lot and done a lot of self reflection, he's going to be a different man when he faces the Witch King again.**

 **U.N.S. - I probably won't include dragons but there will be some other things Sauron will bring to bear that he didn't in canon.  
**

 **Quelthias - don't worry about old Saruman, he's still got some tricks up his sleeves.**

 **Noob6 - I don't think Sauron or Witch King POVs work because there's a certain mystery to them and their thoughts that are lost with a POV chapter.**

 **Lord Razer - Saruman doesn't have full control over Theoden, but the king is still mentally crippled.**


	105. CI The Queen

**CI**

 **The Queen**

Kevan had decided that they would leave for Minas Tirith with Faramir's party, and while she understood the reasoning she was unsure if she wanted to go with them. _Father told me to return with an elven host,_ she thought as she sat alone in one of Lothlorien's gardens, _and I cannot…_ She sighed, _Tyrion would take me in, but what would I do in Rohan? And what of Tommen and Myrcella? Would they join me there?"_

"Perhaps they would, for a time," Galadriel said, startling Cersei as she entered the garden. "But what then?"

"If they want to go elsewhere I will go with them," she replied, "You said you wanted me to find some manner of happiness, my children _are_ my happiness, and in a world like this who knows what might befall them without their mother?"

"What indeed…" Galadriel said quietly, looking away a moment. "Our children are destined to leave us Cersei Lannister, at childhood's end they find their own love and loss and our power over them is truly gone."

"You had a daughter didn't you?" Cersei said slowly, "Celebrian, she was listed in your line in one of the texts in Minas Tirith."

"She no longer dwells in Middle Earth," Galadriel replied, "she has gone over the sea… Celeborn and I will join her soon."

"But who will rule Lothlorien without you?" Cersei asked in shock.

"No one," the elven lady said wistfully, "It will fade."

"No…" Cersei whispered, looking around, "Lady Galadriel you cannot allow that to happen! This place is more than just beautiful! It's… it's…" she stumbled, at a loss for words.

"It is everything I imagined when I first left the uttermost west," Galadriel moved to one of the golden trees, reaching up to touch the leaves lightly, "Magnificent in its splendor, as vibrant and alive as any of Yavanna's gardens, and most of all it is mine… I will miss it."

"Then keep it!" Cersei exclaimed, "It is more than just yours by rights you _deserve_ this place!"

"I deserve it?" Galadriel seemed amused by the notion.

"Yes," Cersei said firmly, "You aren't like other rulers," _You aren't like_ I _was…_

Galadriel laughed outright at that, though there was a sadness behind it, "What wisdom the elves have, what wisdom _I_ have, was gained through many lifetimes of mistakes and terrible deeds." She regarded Cersei a moment, "Do you know why the houses of the Noldor came to Middle Earth?"

Cersei nodded, "Your people warred against another dark lord didn't they? They came to fight him."

"Some came for revenge, others fled punishment for sins committed over the sea, but I Cersei Lannister, I came here seeking power and glory." She sat on a nearby bench and stared into a rippling fountain, "We were a young race then, and rash, every bit as ambitious and ruthless as men like your father. We fought over thrones, we poisoned one another, we waged wars, and we committed unspeakable acts."

She touched the water, stirring it slightly with her finger and blurring their reflections. "When Morgoth was thrown down for the final time those of us who rebelled were offered pardon for our sins if we would only go to the West and ask for it."

"And you chose not to," Cersei said, "why?"

"To whom must a queen bow?" Galadriel asked.

"No one," Cersei replied without hesitation.

"Then you know why I would not bow."

"But why would you do so now?" Cersei asked.

"I dream of the sea," Galadriel replied, "of white shores and a far green country where family and friends I have all but forgotten wait for me. The pride of my youth is not as strong as it once was…" she sighed, "I have passed my final test, I will go into the West and remain Galadriel."

"And leave us to stand alone?" she asked quietly, her eyes downcast, _To leave me to stand alone?_

"You will not be alone, that much I can still promise," Galadriel replied. She stood up and walked back towards the palace, pausing before she passed under the archway, "Your time in Lothlorien is almost over Cersei Lannister, reflect on the things we've talked about and prepare yourself for the road ahead." With that she walked away, leaving Cersei alone among the trees.

 _We leave tomorrow,_ she realized, _Has the time really gone so quickly?_ It had, though looking around at the soft reflection of the sun upon the golden leaves it wasn't hard to see how the days had slipped away. Distantly she heard laughter somewhere, getting up and leaving the isolated garden she saw the four hobbits walking, well not walking, Sam was chasing Pippin, and the two crashed the ground a moment later amid the laughter of the other two hobbits.

She allowed herself a small smile. She found the hobbits amusing, and a part of her envied the closeness they seemed to have, it was hard for her to remember a time when she'd been close to anyone other than Jaime…

"Lady Cersei," Merry said suddenly as he noticed her. He gave a quick bow, "My apologies for these two, they're arguing over a girl you see-"

"We are not!" Sam exclaimed.

Pippin nodded as the two of them stood up and brushed the dust from their clothes, "I had merely remarked that Sam here has fought against orcs, trolls, wolves, and wild men, and yet he's still too afraid to ask Rosie Cotton for a dance."

Cersei raised an eyebrow as she walked towards them, "Is this true?" she asked as she looked down at Sam.

"She wouldn't have any interest in me," the hobbit replied, "I think she fancies Ted Sandyman, his father owns the Old Mill you see…"

Cersei rolled her eyes, "You have journeyed to Elven kingdoms, you cavort with foreign nobles, and from the sound of things you've fought in at least one battle. If the mill owner's son is your only rival for this girl's affections you have nothing to fear."

"There you have it Sam," Frodo laughed, "now you know it's not just something your friends say to spare your feelings!"

The five of them returned to the palace where the most of the party was already seated in the banquet hall for dinner. Her uncle Kevan was there was well, and she took a seat across from him.

"We need to talk about what you will do next," Kevan said quietly.

"I will travel south with you and everyone else," Cersei replied, "What is there to discuss?"

"You know what I mean girl," he said, reaching for his wineglass. "Tywin knew this mission's success was unlikely, but that will not change his mind. I don't believe he will welcome you among our countrymen in Minas Tirith, nor is there a place for you in the Westerlands."

"Tyrion seems to have made his way in the world quite well without father," Cersei snapped, "Do you think I cannot do the same?"

"You're a smart woman when you let yourself be, perhaps you could," Kevan replied, "but I'm sure even Tyrion himself would admit that there was a fair amount of luck that helped him rise to his current position. Expecting to find yourself in a position of influence and power simply because your brother managed it seems to me to be a poor plan."

"So where should I go then?" She asked, annoyed, "Somewhere that I can be corralled and controlled I'm sure…"

Kevan frowned, "I was going to suggest you go to Rohan and assist Tyrion with his efforts, I'm certain he could find some use for you…"

"Serving as Tyrion's bookkeeper does not appeal to me," She replied, "Perhaps I can be of use to the war effort in Minas Tirith instead?"

"And who would house you?" Kevan asked.

At that moment Faramir entered the banquet hall, smiling and walking towards them. He was greeted by the hobbits, and Aragorn nodded at him slightly. A sudden thought struck Cersei and she waved the Steward's son toward her and Kevan. With a confused frown he walked towards them and sat beside Kevan across from her.

"Ser Kevan," he greeted, "Lady Cersei, might I be of some assistance? I don't mean to be impolite, but Aragorn and I were going to discuss which provisions we would-"

"Faramir," she said, cutting him off, "When we return to Gondor would I be welcome in your father's household?" The ranger seemed caught off guard by the question, and beside him Kevan sighed softly, though he said nothing.

"If we are no longer to be betrothed I don't know how appropriate that would be," Faramir said finally, "But it was through your help that I was able to leave Minas Tirith… I think I can promise you some accommodations."

She smiled and shot a glance at Kevan, "You have my thanks. This is a great burden lifted from my thoughts."

"A pleasure to have been of service," Faramir said, bowing slightly, "Now if you'll excuse me…" he got up and walked back down towards where Aragorn was seated.

"What game are you playing with the Steward's son?" Kevan asked quietly when he had gone.

"We were to be betrothed at one time," Cersei remarked, "is it so strange that we would be friendly to one another?"

"That was more than just chivalry, and while you are still beautiful I do not think the young captain is infatuated with you…" Kevan said, stroking his beard slowly, "He genuinely enjoys your company doesn't he? An odd thing for a man such as him and a woman such as you…"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Cersei snapped, "Does my company offend _you_ Uncle?"

"Less now than it did before to be sure," her uncle said in a serious tone, "regarding the Steward's son… the best advice I can give now is to tread carefully."

The other members of the party arrived then, Clegane entered alone and found his way to Aragorn and Faramir, they were joined soon after by Gimli and Legolas, arriving together and laughing over some shared joke. While every meal in Lothlorien had been well prepared on the eve of their departure their hosts had outdone themselves, producing the most succulent duck Cersei had tasted, along with a lembas bread that seemed somehow even more flavorful than the elves usual offering.

She slept well, and when Kevan shook her awake early the next morning she rose without protest or groaning, and within a few moments it felt as though she had already been up for several hours. While in Lorien she'd returned to dresses and finer garments, but today she returned to the leather and cotton of her traveling clothes, her light travel pack thrown over her shoulder.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, her face seemed leaner, almost… _younger?_ No, that was her imagination, but as she studied her figure she realized that her face wasn't the only place she'd lost weight. She smiled slightly, _Perhaps a break from palace food and wine did me some good after all…_ Her eyes lingered on her hair, while it had grown down near to her shoulders it was still far shorter than it had been before Kevan had cut it on their departure from Minas Tirith. _At least I look like a woman again,_ she thought absently as she left her room in Lothlorien for the final time.

She and Kevan walked together out of the palace down a small pathway that lead to the banks of the River Celebrant, which flowed through the Elven settlement. A set of four boats had been provided for them, and she could see Faramir and Clegane placing bundles of supplies in each one, the big knight shooting her a surly glance as she approached.

Aragorn, who she understood would be their leader for the duration of their shared travel, arrived last, flanked by Galadriel and Celeborn with a few elven retainers following behind. They were speaking in hushed tones, and as they reached the river they stopped as Aragorn moved to stand with them.

"Our time together has reached its end my friends," Celeborn said, breaking the silence. "Those who will go forward from here must harden their spirits, for the road ahead will not grow any easier."

Galadriel walked past them now, looking each in the eye, "All of you are strong in your own ways. It may be that the path you must walk is already before you, though you do not see it yet." She gestured for the retainers behind her to bring a number of items forward, "I have a few final gifts for each of you which I hope will help you to find the way."

The first few elves distributed a series of cloaks to them, green and well made, with broaches stamped in the shapes of leaves. They were also given a few bundles of rope that to Cersei's eye looked strong and tightly woven. The next group carried a number of different items, one for each of them.

They began with Aragorn, giving him a finely adorned scabbard for his blade, along with a box that Cersei saw contained a brilliant jewel. He closed the box before she could get a better look at it. To the elf Legolas they gave a new bow, longer and mightier looking than his old one. Merry and Pippin received a pair of silver belts, with shining jeweled flowers serving as the clasps. They came to Faramir next, handing him a pair of vambraces.

"Strong," Faramir said as he felt the material, "but flexible… porous too. What is this material? It's no leather I've seen."

"Dragonhide," Celeborn explained, "from a cold-drake far to the North. A rare material, and difficult to cure, but what little we have will be put to good use in your hands I think."

Faramir slipped the pieces on, flexing his hand in each, "A fine gift indeed," he murmured, "you have my thanks."

They came to Clegane next, handing him a sheathed broadsword. He took it from them, fastening it to his belt before drawing it. The blade itself was a bright silver, almost white, and the pommel appeared to be made of twisting vines cast in steel.

"A finer blade than any I've ever owned," Clegane muttered, holding it up so the others could see. He sighed and looked to Lady Galadriel, "What's its name?"

"This is a sword with no name Sandor Clegane," Galadriel replied smiling, "it will be mentioned in no songs and tales save the ones you write for it."

"None then," Clegane muttered, seeing the look the others gave him he bowed slightly, "You have my thanks Lady Galadriel…" In spite of the man's embarrassment the smile remained on Galadriel's face as she moved to distribute the rest of the gifts.

Sam received a box of soil holding a single acorn, the seed for a Mallorn tree Galadriel explained. Frodo received a glowing crystal phial, the gathered light of the star of Elendil.

When she came to Gimli she paused, "I am sorry master Dwarf," she said, "We were not sure what gift you would want… name anything your heart desires and it will be yours."

Gimli blushed a moment, "I need nothing," but he had hardly said it when he seemed to change his mind, "Actually… I understand if it's not…"

"Name your desire Gimli, son of Gloin," Galadriel said.

The dwarf's face somehow went a deeper shade of red, "If I must, a single strand of your hair, which surpasses the gold of the earth as the stars surpass the gems of the mine."

Galadriel smiled warmly before reaching to the top of her head. With a small movement of her wrist she brought something down to the dwarf, judging from his expression Galadriel had honored the request.

Finally she came to Kevan and Cersei, the elves bearing their gifts following closely behind her.

"For Ser Kevan a pair of Elven boots," Galadriel said as they moved closer, "wearing these even your loudest footsteps will go unheard."

Kevan's eyes lit up, and he hastily began kicking off his current pair, "Many thanks Lady Galadriel!" A moment later he was wearing the new footgear. He moved his foot back and forth over the gravel of the riverbed, but no sound came from it. "How?" he asked.

"I've given up asking that," Clegane said.

Cersei waited quietly as the elves came to her, handing her a pair of vials, one colored a pale red, the other with a dark, almost opaque, glass.

"The first is a perfume, to remind you of Lothlorien after you have gone," Galadriel explained, "The other is a lantern oil that our people made long ago to ward off the cold as we crossed the grinding ice of the far north. A single drop will burn a fire for a day, a fire warmer and brighter than any fed by wood." She took the red vial from Cersei a moment, holding it in her hand, "I hope that it will grant you relief when winter comes."

"Thank you," she said quietly, taking the oil back from Galadriel.

"Now comes our parting," Galadriel said, looking her in the eyes. "Do not forget Cersei Lannister, you are never alone."

With that she stepped back among the other elves. It didn't take the party long to finish loading the boats, and soon they were pushing away from shore, the mood somber. She shared a boat with her uncle, helping to guide it into the current behind the others. As they drifted away Galadriel's voice echoed softly through the air.

 _I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew_

 _Of wind I sang, a wind there came and in the branches blew._

 _Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moon, the foam was on the Sea,_

 _And by the strand of Ilmarin there grew a golden Tree._

 _Beneath the stars of Ever-eve in Eldamar it shone,_

 _In Eldamar beside the walls of Elven Tirion._

 _There long the golden leaves have grown upon the branching years,_

 _While here beyond the Sundering Seas now fall the Elven-tears._

 _O Lórien! The Winter comes, the bare and leafless Day;_

 _The leaves are falling in the stream, the River flows away._

 _O Lórien! Too long I have dwelt upon this Hither Shore_

 _And in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor._

 _But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me,_

 _What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?_

Cersei looked away, hoping the others would not see the tears on her face.

 **A/N: The song is the same as the one Galadriel sang them in canon. Also the line about her "test" is supposed to imply that her canon meeting with Frodo still happened and had similar results, namely Galadriel refused the ring.  
**

 **deadblow13 - Haha yeah between longer chapters and a busier personal life I'm not updating as fast as I was at the beginning. Don't worry we're still going strong though! Anyways as for the rest of Westeros showing up I imagine Tywin would frantically try to explain the situation while everyone refuses to believe him because... well it's friggin Tywin! Why would he try to save the world?**

 **Lord Razer - Tywin's already been humbled once, the Witch King smacked a lot of that out of him, Sauron would be an order of magnitude worse.**

 **lilabennet - Well on spacebattles they speculated that Cerenna will probably get a letter from Tywin at some point that's 10% congratulations and 90% things he'd like her to do for House Lannister while serving as Rohan's queen.**

 **U.N.S. - well Middle Earth has a lot of different types of undead, Barrow-Wight type creatures will probably show up since they're scary and powerful but a normal man can still do one harm (Frodo cut off one's hand in canon) and I've made them a bit more "physical" in this story.**

 **Cyricist001 - There's very few lethal poisons that act that slowly, but I see your point.**

 **ATP - That Sauron can't be defeated through strength of arms is a major point of the original story and still a pretty strong one here. One thing that DC79 noted on spacebattles was that while Tywin has recognized the nature of his enemy he hasn't quite grasped the fact that he _cannot_ win in military terms.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Due to omakes and extras we're a couple chapters "ahead" of the actual story number as listed on this site. As far as how effective the raid was they got a good number of the officers in the tent, the implication was that they took a toast together and drank the poison around the same time.**


	106. More Joke Chapters

**A/N: Here's another selection of various joke chapters and omakes I wrote in the spacebattles thread, I thought you guys might enjoy them.**

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 **.**

 **this first one is inspired by the various "twenty good men" jokes on the internet.**

 **Ser Twenty Goodmen**

Tywin waited on the top level of Minas Tirith with Denethor for his most terrifying knight to return, the infamous Ser Twenty Goodmen. It was dark, and they could see the enemy camp burning brightly across the river.

"Who _is_ this Ser Twenty?" Denethor breathed, leaning over the railing of the citadel for a better view.

"A man with nothing to lose," Tywin said quietly, "a man who ascended the barriers of mortality and morality to become a living meme. He's waiting for us over there," Tywin pointed to a shadowy area by the main door of the citadel.

"What?!" Denethor exclaimed, "But he was down there lighting the enemy camp on fire not ten minutes ago! I saw it!"

"He travels by scene transition," Tywin said, "Whenever a writer gets lazy or the audience gets bored with a slow arc he can appear."

"My Lords," Ser Twenty said as he approached them, "It is done. I burned all of their food, poisoned the entire river, killed thousands of horses and wargs, and then I went to their break room and deleted all the Witch King's save files on the communal playstation."

"All in the space of a half hour? What manner of man are you?" Denethor asked, fright creeping into his voice.

"Twenty Goodmen," He responded before scene transitioning away into the night.

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 **A/N: this next one was prompted by someone asking what would happen if Sauron invaded Westeros**

 **Sauron Arrives in Westeros**

The dark banners unfurled as the final victory over the forces of humanity was achieved by the dark lord and his armies of evil.

"TREMBLE MORTALS!" Sauron bellowed, the ring on his finger, "I HAVE CLAIMED WESTEROS AND THIS ENTIRE WORLD!"

The peasants cowered as he stood over them, "please spare us!" one woman called, "what are your demands your evilness?" shouted another.

Sauron chuckled, "First I'm going to kill all of the Boltons, Lannisters, even the Greyjoys too!" There was a brief silence broken by some muttering. Sauron waited for the wailing and gnashing of teeth as the people heard of their ruler's impending deaths but after a moment some scattered clapping came. He frowned beneath his iron helm, "And then I will slay all who stand in my way!"

"You hear that?" Someone shouted excitedly, "he's only going to kill people that get in his way!" now applause erupted and cheering broke out.

"No you fools!" Sauron shouted in exasperation, "My reign will be dark and terrible! You will all be forced to work the fields-"

"He's promising job security!" an old man in front yelled.

"You'll have nothing to eat but maggoty bread!" Sauron warned in his most intimidating tone.

"He's bringing bread!" a child called, causing another cheer to go up from the crowd.

"SAURON!" They chanted "SAURON! SAURON! SAURON!" The Nazgul tried to hold them back but the excited crowd overwhelmed them and hoisted Sauron up over them.

"Murazor you idiot, help!" Sauron shouted as they carried him towards the Red Keep.

"I can't my liege!" The witch king screamed, he was being swarmed by excited young women, and soon he disappeared behind the mob.

And so began the reign of Sauron the Kind, The Merciful, and the Beloved. There were many incidents throughout his long reign where the so called "Dark Lord" tried to prove his evil nature to the people of Westeros, but each attempt only endeared him to them more.

.

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 **A/N: This next one is from before Jaime killed Joffrey, several forum users were trying to guess which king Jaime would end up killing.**

 **The Kingslayer**

Jaime brooded from Casterly Rock, thinking over the prophecy. _I must find a king to slay to fulfill the prophecy_ he thought anxiously _Aragorn and Theoden are friends... the dwarves are too far away, there's no way in hell I could beat Thranduil._..

Suddenly a commercial flashed on his televsion, he frowned, "Cersei when did we get a television?" he yelled. He thought a moment, "Cersei what the hell is a television?"

From the other room he heard his sister's voice, "I think Saruman sent it to me and Faramir as a wedding gift."

The commercial continued, "If you need a new cart come on down to Bob's used carts! I'm Bob, the Deal King!"

"That's it!" he shouted triumphantly. He grabbed Brightroar and ran to the stables, jumping on his horse. It didn't take him long to reach Bob's Used Carts, nor was it hard to find. The man had a giant inflatable tube with a face on it drifting over Lannisport. He dismounted and saw a man in the lot, "Are you Bob the Deal King?" he asked.

The man grinned and ran a hand over his slicked back hair, "Why yes young man, would you like to hear about my super low financing offer-" he was cut off as Jaime pushed his sword through the man's neck.

"Whoah momma! What was that?!" the voice carried a southern accent, he turned to see another man wearing a white sequined suit, black oiled hair matching his sunglasses.

"Who are you?" he asked surprised.

The man took off his sunglasses, offended, "You don't recognize the King of Rock and Roll boy?" Jaime shrugged his shoulders and sliced the man's head off.

"Two kings is better than one I guess..."

"Hey why'd you just kill those guys?" Another man, fat this time and wearing a plain brown shirt, had appeared.

He sighed, "And who are you to question Jaime Lannister?"

The man smiled, "I'm Kevin James! You might remember me from such hits as the television show King of Queens-" Jaime cut him open before he could finish.

"Jaime please stop kingslaying!" Tyrion cried, Jaime turned to see his brother had gathered with a worried looking crowd, "Look let's just calm down and put the sword back in the sheath..."

Jaime sighed, "All right..." he slowly put brightroar over his shoulder and slid it into place. "I suppose I got a bit carried away..."

Tyrion smiled, "Great! now let's just cool off, maybe we'll go over to Burger King and- Oh gods no Jaime!" but it was too late Jaime had already jumped onto his horse and was speeding towards the fast food district.

.

.

 **A/N: This last one was inspired by someone asking what would have happened if the Goblins had eaten Joffrey instead of joining up with him**

 **A Really Shitty Joke Chapter**

"This whole hostage situation is making me hungry," the Great Goblin said, licking his lips as they waited in the throne room for Jaime. "Anyone got any of that jerky made out of people?"

"Soylent Jack Links?" Narg asked, "Sorry, I just ate the last bag on the way up here."

"Just eat one of the hostages," Joffrey said irritably, "and cook it this time you savages!"

Narg shrugged and looked at one of the children they were holding, "You gonna want any?" he asked the king.

Joffrey made a face, "Gods no, human tastes worse than Arby's."

"No accounting for taste I suppose," the Great Goblin responded.

"No there isn't," Joffrey said, "did you know that a lot of the goblins think Return of the King is the best Lord of the Rings movie?"

"It is though," Barg said curiously, "unless you're one of those people who prefers the Two Towers?"

"Rubbish," Joffrey said waving his hand dismissively, "The best one is The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey."

There was a startled gasp, "Surely you jest you grace?" Narg asked uncertainly.

"No, it was by far the best," Joffrey said firmly, "The brilliant use of CGI, the slapstick visual comedy, and the extra stuff they added from the books puts it simply in a league of it's own compared to those wooden carriage wrecks that they call the original trilogy."

"I'd shut my mouth if I were you…" Barg growled.

"Oh please," Joffrey said, "you philistines simply don't know good film. Why I'll bet you lot think the Empire Strikes Back is better than The Phantom-"

"KILL HIM!" Barg screamed, "KILL HIM NOW!" the goblins rushed forward eagerly, stabbing Joffrey over and over until he fell to the ground.

"Any last words?" Barg asked with a sneer as Joffrey gurgled on the ground.

"R… Roger…" The boy sputtered.

"What's that?" Barg asked, leaning forward.

"Roger Moore," Joffrey gasped, "Is the best Bond!" and with that Joffrey died.

"Looks like meat's back on the menu boys!" Barg said as a pair of goblins dragged Joffrey's body away to make a stew.

A short time later Barg patted his stomach, happy with the meat the boy had provided them, "He was a better meal than a king!" he joked, and the goblins laughed. Suddenly he felt a rumbling, "Gas I suppose," he muttered, but it didn't stop, and soon he felt pain in his gut. "By Morgoth I need to find a bathroom!" he shouted.

"My liege please!" Narg began, gripping his own stomach, "I need one-"

"Rank has it's privileges!" the great goblin said, trying to push past him to reach the chamberpot, but he didn't make it in time and he felt the nausea wash over him as he vomited on the floor.

"I think I'm going to die!" Barg wailed, and then, with a shudder, he voided his bowels and did.

...

Sometime after that Jaime and the others arrived in the throne room to free the hostages. The four of them gasped at the stench and then in horror as they saw the room covered in dead goblins, feces, and vomit.

"What in the Seven Hells happened here?" Jaime asked in shock.


	107. CII The Second Son

**CII**

 **The Second Son**

The journey down the river was marked by a somber mood, none of them had truly wanted to leave Lorien, and Faramir found himself missing Gandalf's guidance more and more the further they journeyed from the Elven realm. It wasn't long before they found a quiet shoreline to camp for the night. As he was pulling his things off the boat Aragorn walked over to him.

"We've been followed," the other ranger said quietly, "There is a log on the opposite shoreline, do you see it?"

Trying to hide his shock Faramir glanced over Aragorn's shoulder, "Yes," he whispered, seeing the log, "is there something behind it?"

"Gollum," Aragorn muttered, "He floated downriver grasping on to it, hoping we would think it just another piece of debris."

 _How did I miss that?_ He scolded himself, seeing his expression Aragorn sighed, "He is clever, I did not see him either. It was the hobbit Sam who noticed the log move against one of the currents, I watched it for at least two hours before I saw the ripple of one of his hands paddling after us."

"Should we set a trap?" Faramir whispered, "Try to catch him?"

"Gandalf counseled against such in Moria," Aragorn muttered, "But Gandalf isn't here. We could try perhaps, but it would be difficult. When Legolas and I caught him before it was by skill that we tracked him, but chance that we caught him."

"We'll have to set a sharp watch," Faramir said, eyeing the log again, "everyone will have to go in pairs… Will he attack us do you think?"

"No," Aragorn replied firmly, "he is a pitiful creature, he would never dare attack a party as large as ours, and even if we set no watch I think he would fear to come after us himself. I am more worried that he will alert other pursuers to us."

A sudden thought occurred to Faramir, "What of the Lannisters? We could tell them a spy is upon us, but I don't know if explaining the creature's true nature to them would be wise."

"Perhaps not," Aragorn replied, "but for now explaining him away as a mere spy won't seem out of the ordinary. We'll part from the two of them soon enough, and then when we've passed a little further to the East we might try to grab him then."

"Then you have decided a course?" Faramir asked quietly, "one that you are sure will take us east rather than south to Minas Tirith?"

"I've discussed it with Frodo," Aragorn began, "Gondor might be a friendlier route, for a time, but there are many there who might not agree with our course. Clegane says that Tywin Lannister is a ruthless and cunning man, if we are within his reach and he decides the Ring is better off in his hands I do not know if we will be able to keep it from him." He paused a moment and sighed, "Nor am I entirely sure that Lord Denethor will make the right decision if he thinks this power can save those he has sworn to defend."

A part of Faramir knew that it was likely true, but the words still hurt, "If the Ring cannot go south then how will Gondor know her king has returned?"

"I will go to Minas Tirith when the quest is over," Aragorn assured him, "but until then I will remain at Frodo's side if I can." He hesitated a moment before continuing, "Kevan and Cersei Lannister will go to Minas Tirith, you could go with them. If you wish to stand with your people in this darkest hour no one will think less of you-"

" _Our_ people," Faramir cut him off, "and to remain in this fellowship leaves my conscience clear. Gondor has many rangers, one more or one fewer will make no difference… but it has no king." Before Aragorn could say anything else he turned to leave, walking up to the campsite.

Though he tried not to he found himself thinking about what Aragorn had said, of Minas Tirith and the war still being fought in his homeland. _Boromir could no doubt use me right now… both as a leader of men and as a brother._ He sighed, _the Ring is all that truly matters,_ he assured himself, _there will be no victory unless it can be destroyed._

As he walked up to the camp he dropped his parcel near some of the other supplies and briefly looked around at the camp. Kevan and Cersei Lannister were piling wood for a fire while the hobbits appeared to be having a discussion about what they would season the night's meal with. The Elf and the Dwarf were gone, and Clegane brooded against a tree, examining his new sword. Looking up at the sky he decided there was still enough daylight left to place a few snares, he pulled some thin rope from his pace and a few carved wooden hooks out of his pack.

Suddenly he recalled Aragorn's words about going in pairs, "Aragorn has said no one is to leave camp alone," he said loudly, "Will anyone go with me to place game snares?"

"I will," Cersei said, standing up.

"Perhaps I should go," Kevan said suddenly, "Cersei can start the fire."

"You've been meaning to teach me to tie game snares Uncle, now seems a good time to learn them," she said with a smile. She fished something in her pocket, a moment later she tossed a piece of flint to Kevan and followed him towards a grove of small spruce trees.

"Like this," he said a few moments later as he explained the knot to Cersei, "when the animal runs by here it's foot… or some other part-"

"Some other part?" She asked with a grin.

He chuckled, "When some part of the animal is caught it will pull this rope, this causes the sapling to spring up, catching you a rabbit…"

"What of our pursuer?" She asked, "won't he see your snares?"

He stood up, "You know about that do you?"

She shrugged, "As secrets go it's a hard one to keep from traveling companions. Aragorn is on edge and the elf has taken the dwarf with him and has been circling the camp since we landed. What is it? Orcs?"

"A small spying creature, I don't know what it is," he lied.

She looked at him strangely, but didn't question it, "Who is Aragorn?" she asked instead, "Who is he really I mean? The way you and the others look at him… he's not just some guide you hired is he? A party with you in it would hardly need one in the first place."

He sighed, "No, he's not a mere guide…" he found himself hesitating, _they'll know soon enough,_ he decided. "Aragorn is the true heir to the throne of Gondor, he is my king." Her eyebrows rose at that, and the calm and collected façade Cersei often tried to maintain disappeared, shock replacing it.

"H-He is a _king_?" she finally managed, "How do you know this?"

"He bears the blade that was broken, the Elven lords and the Wizard Gandalf have vouched for him."

"He could be an imposter," Cersei said, "Some man they brought out of the wilderness to rally your people against the darkness-"

"No," Faramir said with a chuckle, "Gandalf had many tricks, but few outright deceits, and in any case that stone he was given by the lady Galadriel… it's not just a mere bauble either, from its look it must have come over the sea. They wouldn't give such a treasure away lightly." He pulled another pair of wooden hooks from his belt and set about making another snare, "Even without them I think I would believe he was our king. He has the look and manner of kings of old, and the way he fights and leads gives me a sense that he is more than just our captain."

"Suppose he is the king then," Cersei said, crouching down next to him as he set the trap, "what then? He has no army, will your father truly let some unknown ranger simply take the throne of Gondor?"

"If it comes to that I will counsel him to do so," Faramir said quietly. A thought occurred to him, "Here, you tie the knot," he said, handing the thread to Cersei. Seeing her look he chuckled, "we're supposed to be setting game snares, what will your uncle think we were doing if we return and you haven't learned a single knot?"

She took the thread from him and fumbled before drawing it into a loop, "It is not only your father who Aragorn must be concerned with, but mine as well."

"And what do you think Lord Tywin will do?" he asked.

"He will do what is best for House Lannister," she said bitterly, "between your father and Aragorn he would support the stronger side, and he would do so quickly and without mercy."

"I don't think it will come to that," Faramir muttered, "we can hardly afford to fight amongst ourselves and all parties involved know it." He stood up, "I don't wish to discuss this anymore."

"A fine set of snares," Kevan said, startling them both.

"Ser Kevan," Faramir said, "I didn't hear you approach."

"These elven boots work quite well then," He said with a smile, "I just thought I'd come and see if you two needed any help, but it looks like everything is _proper_ out here. If there's no more to be done supper will be ready soon."

The three of them headed back to the camp, as Kevan had said there was a stew already boiling over the fire, and pieces of Lembas bread were being broken and passed around. They went to bed early that night, Faramir took first watch alongside Sam, though they talked little to allow the others to sleep.

When dawn came he and Aragorn went to check the snares. He saw that one had been tripped, though instead than a rabbit he found only a bloody piece of string dangling from a sapling.

"It seems our stalker not only crossed the river last night, but stole your catch as well," Aragorn said quietly.

They boarded the ships and continued down the river. Over the next two days they continued south on the river, the mood of the party refusing to improve. The land seemed to match their spirits as the trees and forests of Lothlorien disappeared, leaving the featureless prairie of the Wold to their west, and barren brown lands to their east, all while the paddling log followed them.

"What happened to these lands Aragorn?" Frodo asked, "To the west there is at least grass, but to the east there is only dirt, cracked and dry, even along the river what few trees there are look sick or dead."

"I cannot say for certain," Aragorn replied as they rowed onward, "save that it was some work of the enemy."

"The first war against Sauron was fought near here wasn't it?" Cersei called as her and Kevan paddled slightly closer, "he must have scorched the land when he invaded."

"Many battles were fought near here in the third age as well," Faramir said, eyeing several large black birds circling over them, "these lands are stained with the blood of peoples from every corner of the world."

"I shall be glad to be past them then," Frodo said, "it'll be a nice thing to see green fields and trees again."

"You will see them again, and soon," Faramir said, "when we pass into Gondor the land will bloom again."

"Far longer for us I'm afraid," Kevan said, "our route will take us through the Wold," he thought a moment, "Aragorn, how much farther until we reach the Undeeps?"

"We will reach and camp at the North Undeep by tomorrow," Aragorn replied, peering ahead.

"Aragorn!" Legolas shouted suddenly, pointing to the sky behind them. They all turned as one to see a trio of flying objects in the sky to their west.

 _Those are no birds,_ Faramir thought as he drew his bow. As one of the creatures neared them he could make out a pair of batlike wings.

"These cunts again," Clegane muttered.

"Gimli!" Legolas cried as he stood up, "Steady the boat!"

"Let me just hold the river still for you while I'm at it!" the dwarf growled, but he seemed to spread himself out in a motion to prevent the boat from rocking.

Legolas nocked an arrow and they collectively held their breaths as he took aim at one of the creatures. It was a difficult shot, one Faramir knew for certain he wouldn't have been able to make, and between the distance and the river's rocking it came as no surprise to him when the first of Legolas' arrows arced just underneath one of the flying orcs. The elf swore under his breath and readied another arrow, this one flew up and into one of the thing's heads, bringing it down.

A cheer went up from the party, but it soon turned to a gasp of horror as a massive dark shape dove from high above, snatching one of the remaining goblins in a pair of cruel jaws.

"Gods above!" Kevan shouted, "It's a bloody dragon!"

"Legolas! Faramir!" Aragorn shouted as he tried to ready his own bow, "bring it down!"

The thing circled around them, giving them a better view of it. It was covered in shining black scales, with a beak that would have been hawklike save for the curved teeth inside of its mouth. Most terrible of all though was the black cloaked rider upon it's back.

"It's the Nazgul!" Cersei shouted in fear.

He knew she was right, a cold feeling had gripped his chest and turned his veins to ice. He steeled himself and began loosing arrows upward, though they were haphazard and all went wide. Still they had the desired effect, the flying beast veered away from them. Again it was Legolas' arrow that flew true, striking the thing's flank about where Faramir would have guessed it's lungs were. A terrible bellow rang over the fields as the thing flapped it's wings a few more times before plummeting to the ground perhaps a mile behind them.

They were all quiet for a moment until Kevan finally spoke, "Do you suppose the fall might have killed it?"

"The beast lives no more," Legolas said confidently.

"That wasn't what I was referring to," Kevan said quietly.

"The Nazgul will follow us," Aragorn said, "but even such a thing as that needs a steed, and on it's own two feet it is no quicker than a man. By the end of the day we will far beyond pursuit… for now."

"Perhaps you should go with us through Rohan," Kevan said suddenly, still scanning the sky, "they know your party is on the river, Rohan is friendly and if we can find horses there none of these things will catch us."

"It will do us no good," Aragorn said darkly, "We are spotted by scouts of Isengard and of Mordor… perhaps we will cross onto the East bank, they would not suspect that, but for now we will go at least to the North Undeep."

They rowed quietly, though the trees were sparse enough that they would likely see any attackers coming everyone was too on edge to talk, fearful that a stray word would bring more horrors down on their heads. They traveled further that day than they might have, not stopping until the sun had completely dipped below the horizon and it was impossible to continue for lack of light. They lit no fire, eating lembas bread and dried meats for their dinner, and as they ate Aragorn explained that they would take watch in groups of five and six rather than the usual two. What sleep they got was fitful, and they didn't get much of it, for Aragorn roused them again as soon as the first rays of sun appeared over the horizon.

As they pushed off from shore Faramir saw that a fog had risen over the Anduin, clouding the shore and shrouding them in a world of grey shadows.

"Keep close," Aragorn said as they rowed slowly through the mist.

"I don't like this fog," Gimli whispered, "I'm certain it's the work of the enemy…"

"If it hides them it hides us," Legolas reassured him, though the elf looked far from calm himself.

A few hours later they heard the sound of gravel against the bottoms of the boats signifying that they had reached the Northern Undeep. They got out of the boats, splashing down into water that came about to their ankles. Kevan and Cersei dragged their boat towards the west bank.

The two of them paused a moment, "Are you sure then that you won't come with us?" Kevan asked, "Rohan is the safest path south."

"We cannot go that way," Aragorn replied, "I'm sorry, I wish our parting could come under better circumstances-" He was cut off by a high trilling horn coming from the far bank, "Easterlings!" he drew his sword, "Perhaps we will take the west-" another horn trilled from the other side of the river, but then it was cut off by a deeper, steadier note.

"We're surrounded!" Sam shouted, drawing his own sword. The rest of the party followed suit, staring around them with their weapons held high.

"Take your packs off the boats, quickly now!" Aragorn shouted.

"Are you mad?" Gimli asked even as he followed Aragorn's orders, "the river's our only path of escape!"

"They knew we would cross the undeeps," Aragorn replied as he kicked his own empty boat back into the current, "and they knew we would be in boats, this isn't an attempt to capture us, it's an attempt to flush us downriver into a trap!"

"Then we're buggered up the ass anyway," Clegane shouted, "let them come to us!"

"Not yet," Aragorn said, starting towards the West side of the river, "If I'm right there aren't nearly as many of them guarding the banks as they want us to think there are!"

"And if you're wrong?" Clegane asked.

"Then it's like you said," Aragorn said, "We're buggered either way."

"Better some chance than none at all," Legolas said, starting after him. The rest of the party followed suit, wading towards the West bank. They soon reached the shore and formed up with Aragorn, Gimli, Clegane, and himself at the front, weapons at the ready.

"It will be like on Caradhras," Aragorn said quietly, "they won't be able to see well in this, we can fight them a few at a time-" he was cut off again as an Easterling war cry rang out in front of them, but rather than a line of Easterlings rushing out of the fog a single figure stumbled and fell, a crossbow bolt sticking out of his back. A moment later a massive orc with a white hand emblazoned on it's chest piece appeared, it pointed at them and gave a guttural roar before an arrow from Legolas' arrow pierced it's throat. The sound of ringing steel echoed through the fog and Faramir realized a battle was going on perhaps a few dozen yards away.

"They're fighting each other!" Gimli said excitedly.

"Then we have a chance!" Aragorn said, a smile appearing on his face, "Stay close and we might fight our way through this! Forward!" With that Faramir and the others followed Aragorn, son of Arathorn, into battle.

 **A/N: All right back to more serious stuff, as you can see things are starting to hit the fan.**

 **Lord Razer - Well it's a bit of an amalgamation of book and show Cersei, though she's going in a separate direction here than in either canon.**

 **Pyromania101 - Generally most people applaud the Cersei sections, this one in particular seemed really popular. Anyways the sillier omakes and stuff have a pretty jarring difference in tone from the main story that I think fits better in a forum post where things are a bit "divided up." I might just post all the omakes in a separate story, I haven't decided yet. It's not like I do a lot of them anyways, at least not compared to a lot of people on here.**

 **Silverscripter - well she's not exactly a warrior even now, but she's got some bravery in her.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Tywin will probably have his spy network compose a dossier on Cerenna so he can pretend to have been an attentive uncle all those years and know all of her interests and hobbies. We will see Jaime and Eomer again obviously, the war in Rohan will be the next major story arc.**

 **Cyricist001 - several people messaged me about the typo just after I went to bed, it's fixed.**

 **Seanbob1 - Selmy would probably take a liking to most nobility in Middle Earth, they're a lot what he thought Rhaegar was like.**


	108. CIII The Ringbearer

**CIII**

 **The Ringbearer**

Frodo ran behind Aragorn, holding the glowing blue blade of Sting in front of him. The fog muted the echoes of the fighting, making it difficult to be sure where the fighting was, save that it was in front of them somewhere. The first of the other figures started to appear, rather than a fixed line of battle it seemed as though small groups of men and orcs fought each other.

"The halflings!" An orc shouted, pointing at them, suddenly it seems as though several dozen orcs broke away from their duels with the Easterlings and tried to press towards them. The Easterlings saw this, and after shouting some words in a language Frodo didn't recognize they followed after the orcs.

Aragorn met the first of them, swinging Anduril wide and cutting down two orcs in quick succession. An Easterling met him then, blocking his blow skillfully as the ranger tried to move forward. Looking around Frodo could see Gimli, Clegane, and Faramir were beset by multiple foes as well.

"Keep moving forward!" Aragorn said as he blocked a strike and shoved his shoulder into one of the steel clad Easterlings. The man stumbled and Frodo darted Sting into his side before he could recover, he cried out as another blade, this one long and thin, pierced the eyehole of his helmet. He turned to see Cersei Lannister, behind him, her face pale.

"You heard him!" she said in a panicked tone, "keep moving!"

They tried, but as they moved further more and more of the enemy bore down on them. Frodo felt his heart sink as he heard splashing from the ford behind them.

"The ones back there have realized things didn't go according to plan," Kevan said in a defeated voice.

A moment later Frodo saw the outlines of more orcs appearing behind them, these were smaller than the orcs bearing the white hand, but they seemed no less terrible as they ran forward, snarling and waving their weapons.

"Stop them at the crossing!" A gruff voice called out. To their shock a number of the black skinned Uruks ran out of the mist from their right, but instead of flanking them they charged into the orcs coming over the ford, seeming to go into a frenzy as they met their enemy and drove the Mordor orcs back.

The relief was short lived, for another dozen of the large orcs appeared. One of them, standing above the others, seemed to be the leader. With a snarl he drew a sword and ran towards them. With a start Frodo realized that the thing was looking him dead in the eyes as it ran. The Uruks behind it fired a series of crossbow bolts, causing those of at the back of the party to leap to the ground to avoid being hit.

"AH!" he heard Clegane scream and a moment later the big man was down on the ground, a feathered bolt sticking out of the top of the dog shaped helmet.

 _No!_ Frodo thought, almost dropping Sting. For a moment the incoming Uruks seemed to fade away as he watched Arargorn and Faramir moving toward Clegane. Idly he was aware that someone was shouting something at him, and then he gasped as he was lifted off the ground by a pair of hands attached to thick bulging arms. He saw his companions disappearing into the fog as he was carried away.

Looking around he could see that the orc that carried him was accompanied by three others, "We've got one!" it shouted excitedly.

"Where's Ugluk?" Another asked.

"Back there somewhere," The orc carrying Frodo rasped, the four of them came to a stop a moment. They were panting, "Running for days and right into a fight to boot," the orc muttered, "it's no way to do things..." He slung Frodo down a moment, just as he was about to shout the orc clasped a hand over his mouth, "Scream and you'll have no tongue, run and you'll have no feet. Understand?" Wide eyed Frodo nodded. The orc smiled and pulled his hand away before roughly forcing Frodo's hands together and tying them.

"There's some trees over there!" one of the other orcs shouted, "we could hide until Ugluk comes looking for us."

"What about the battle?" The orc tying Frodo asked.

His captor, who he took to be their leader, looked back a moment, a sense of strange longing on it's face, "They're only Mordor filth and East-men," he said finally, "The Wizard said the halflings are the top priority, and we've got one…" he looked around, "We'll take him in there," he pointed to a small copse of trees that could be seen faintly through the mist. "The sun's almost all the way up, when this mist clears we'll find Ugluk and kill the rest of these rabble." He grinned savagely, "They don't have more than twenty or thirty men with them, and Mordor rats can't handle the sun… it'll be a slaughter."

The orcs ran into the small cluster of trees, carrying him with them. As they set him down he could see how exhausted they truly were, two leaned against trees while a third opened a bottle of some foul smelling brown liquid and passed it around.

Frodo just sat silently, still numb. His mind turned to his meeting with Galadriel, after she had refused to take the Ring from him she'd said something that had haunted him since he'd left Lorien, _The Fellowship has already begun to break. They are strong Frodo, and courageous, but this task is beyond strength. Their bodies will be broken by the road or their minds by the power of the Ring, one by one they will fall into shadow._

 _The Ring!_ He realized suddenly, it was still around his neck, dangling just under his shirt. Though his hands were bound he had enough movement to get to it… He looked up, as the orcs had said the sun was beginning to shine brighter, thinning the mist. _If I put it on now I won't have so much as a shadow…_

"What's that!?" one of the orcs said suddenly.

Frodo turned to see a blue glow coming towards them _someone's carrying Sting!_ He realized. A large silhouette appeared, and at first he thought it was another orc carrying his uncle's sword, but then the burned face of Sandor Clegane appeared. He wasn't wearing his helm anymore, and a thin trail of blood ran down the side of his head.

"Wait until he gets a little closer…" one of the orcs whispered.

Just as Frodo was about to shout a warning he heard Sam's voice, "I saw movement in there!" the other hobbit appeared at Clegane's side, holding a jeweled barrow blade in one hand and a cast iron pot in the other.

Realizing they'd been seen the four orcs roared and charged out of the thicket, swords held high. Sam scurried back behind Clegane as the big man shouted his own battle cry and blocked the first blow with his elven blade before bringing Sting around into the attacker's neck. Another tried to run to Clegane's side but Sam darted out with a quick stab into its leg and then another into the small of its back, giving Clegane enough time to block another orc's strike before bringing Sting and his own sword around and across its unarmored chest as Sam ducked low and stabbed the final orc under the ribs.

"You're alive!" Frodo said, holding his hands out for Sam to cut the rope.

"They were aiming for the eyes on my helm rather than the eyes on my face," Clegane said, touching the cut on the top of his head, "Just a scratch, Faramir wasn't so lucky."

Frodo's heart leapt, "Is he…?"

"Four of the Easterlings came at him," Clegane said, "They got a few good blows in, he was limping and bloody when we got separated, but he was still alive." He peered back in the direction they'd come from, "I don't hear anything, either the battle's hit a lull or they've put aside their differences to look for us."

"We should have never left the Shire," Frodo muttered.

"No," Clegane agreed, looking around, "you shouldn't have… _we_ shouldn't have."

"And what kind of talk is that?" Sam asked, wiping sweat from his brow, "We'll find the others and press on, there's no point in wallowing in doubt now."

"It's only going to get harder Sam," Frodo said miserably.

"It's too much isn't it?" Clegane asked quietly.

"It's mine to bear, I swore I would carry it," Frodo said. He held out his hand for Sting but Clegane held it back a moment.

"They shouldn't have picked you," he said, "it wasn't right, it should have been the Wizard, or Aragorn, or…"

"Or you?" Frodo asked, a sense of dread building in the pit of his stomach.

"Or me," Clegane agreed quietly.

"What are you saying?" Sam said, "Come on! We've got to find the others!"

"He's going to take it Sam," Frodo said in a defeated voice.

"It's for the best," Clegane said, "you two can go back to the Shire, away from all this!" he gestured at the dead orcs on the ground, "you don't belong out here, it wasn't fair of Gandalf to put you here in the first place!"

"Gandalf didn't make me do anything," Frodo said as he pulled the ring out from under his shirt. As soon as it was visible there was a hush as he, Clegane, and Sam all stared at it. "I didn't swear to destroy it because of Gandalf, or Elrond, or any other wise counsellor's words. I swore to destroy it for the Shire, for my friends… you were my friend when this started, weren't you?"

"I am your friend," Clegane said in a low voice, "And as a friend I'm going tell you something the others won't, this isn't a quest that anyone is coming home from."

Frodo felt his heart sink, he'd begun to have similar thoughts after Gandalf's passing, but hearing them spoken aloud seemed to lend truth to them. He felt tears welling underneath his eyes, but he blinked them away defiantly.

"If it's the end of me so be it, I swore to destroy the ring and I will even if it claims my life."

"If that's how we're doing this then…" Clegane growled. Out of the corner of his eye Frodo could see Sam moving around behind Clegane. "Don't' try it Gamgee," Clegane said, eyeing him a moment before turning back to Frodo, "Give it to me now, don't make me ask again."

 _One by one…_ Frodo thought as he forced the ring onto his finger. As he felt himself disappear a piercing shriek echoed through the mist.

 **A/N: Another two-parter, comments and reviews in the next chapter**


	109. CIV The Imp

**CIV**

 **The Imp**

"Damn this fog!" Tyrion cursed as the horses trotted through the mist, "I heard the sounds of battle not five minutes ago, there's a skirmish happening right on top of us and we can't see it!"

"The wind is picking up now," Bronn assured him, "It'll last another quarter of an hour, no more," the sellsword grimaced, "Then we just need to worry about the orcs..."

Their conversation was interrupted by a terrible shriek echoing from somewhere in front of them, the sound reverberated through Tyrion, feeling as though a cold iron hand had gripped his heart. The horses faltered and neighed furiously, and looking around Tyrion could see that the men's faces had gone pale white.

"It's something foul isn't it," Bronn whispered fearfully, "it feels like… it feels like it did back _there._ "

"Minas Morgul," Tyrion muttered. He reigned his horse around a moment, regarding the frightened riders. "Men of Rohan," he began, "the shadow of Mordor is cast over us, and one of the enemy's most terrible servants stands in our way, hoping to bring his evil to our very doorstep." He had their attention now, the thought of this thing reaching their loved ones had put some steel back in their spines, "Let us show those who would enslave our wives and children what fate awaits them!" A few shouts went up, and he could see Daven forming the men up for a charge, riding up the side of the column barking orders.

The wind and rising sun were clearing the fog quickly as Bronn had said, and a few groups were becoming visible on the fields in front of them. Looking about he saw several dozen easterlings and smaller orcs separated by a small distance from the larger dark skinned orcs they'd been pursuing. The parties looked as though they were about to leap into battle with one another again, but with the fog lifting both groups were pointing at his men and shouting. It was then that he saw a third group, less than a dozen, with a tall man in front leading them. He was shouting and trying to get Tyrion's attention as they were pursued by scattered members of both enemy forces.

"What's he saying?" Bronn asked, pulling his sword from its sheath.

Tyrion squinted and realized the man was pointing towards a small copse of trees… his heart stopped as he saw a blacked robed figure there, moving slowly but surely towards a pair of figures, one of whom he recognized even from this distance as Sandor Clegane.

"Daven!" he shouted, "Ride down their pursuers. Bronn, Crakehall, Shagga, follow me to Clegane!" He tried to think if there was anything else to be said before a phrase he'd heard Eowyn shout entered his head, "Forth! And fear no darkness!" The men cheered at that, and he felt some of the warmth return inside him.

Daven and the rest of the men broke from him then, leaving him alone with his three chosen riders. He breathed out slowly before unhooking his small axe from his belt. He knew it would do him little good, he wasn't Jaime after all, but it was better than an open palm at the very least. Clegane was fighting the robed figure now, barely holding back strike after strike as he stumbled backwards, trying to keep the Nazgul from a stunted figure behind him. He spurred his horse forward, Bronn pulled even with him a moment, his face grim, but Crakehall and Shagga passed both of them as they shouted incoherent battle cries.

Crakehall made contact first, ramming a lowered lance into the Nazgul's chest, staggering it slightly. As it landed the knight screamed in pain, nearly falling from his horse and releasing the weapon as it began to crumble away to ash. Shagga screamed angrily, raising an axe high, but the Nazgul pivoted with uncanny speed and brought it's sword up through the horse's throat, causing Shagga's blow to go wide as the clansman tumbled into the dirt with his mount. Moving faster than the eye could follow the dark figure moved to kill Bronn's horse the same way, but Bronn barely managed to bring his sword down to deflect the blow as he rode by.

" _Tyrion Lannister!"_ the thing rasped angrily as it shifted towards him. He raised the axe but this time the Nazgul's blade came down, decapitating his horse entirely. For a moment he was falling forward as Shagga had but a mailed hand flew out of the robe and caught him by the throat, knocking the wind out of him. He dropped his axe and struggled to breathe as the Nazgul lifted him up before violently throwing him several feet. He screamed in pain as he felt something in his legs break with a sickening crunch.

He wanted to shout for Bronn, for Shagga, for anyone, but when he opened his mouth only coughing came out as he tried to crawl away. He put his hand to his head as the world swam, and it came away red. From somewhere overhead he saw a gray figure moving to fight the black one that had been coming towards him.

"Get out of here Sam!" Clegane shouted, "Find Frodo and _go!_ "

He gasped as another small figure appeared, seemingly out of thin air. The newcomer, who seemed to be as short as he was, stood over him staring in shock at Clegane's continued duel with the Nazgul. His eyes focused again as he caught sight of a simple gold band in the figure's hand, _The One!_ He forced himself upright, ever muscle screaming in agony.

 _"RUN!"_ he shouted to the figure hoarsely. This seemed to break his trance and he looked down, panic suddenly coming over his face.

"Come on Mr. Frodo!" another small figure grasped the Ringbearer by the arm and nearly dragged him back towards the trees.

Tyrion watched them run a moment before looking back towards the duel. Clegane was tiring, and from the panicked look on his face he knew he could not hold off his attacker much longer. The Nazgul seemed to notice this and pressed forward with a series of blinding strikes that Tyrion could barely follow. Clegane tried to step backwards as he blocked each one, but he stumbled and fell to the earth. Rather than a killing blow the robed figure's head turned towards the trees where the ringbearer had fled.

 _I can't let it pursue them,_ he tried to rise again but the moment he tried to put weight on his leg pain shot through it and he fell again with a scream, _"BRONN!"_ he shouted hoarsely. The noise caught the thing's attention, and he felt fear grip him again as it seemed to glide towards him.

" _What is the matter Lord Tyrion?"_ the thing hissed in a hateful tone, " _No more sycophants or false friends to shield you?"_ it raised a sword, " _This should have been done long ago…"_

Tyrion held up a hand and closed his eyes, but suddenly someone stepped in front of him, sword in hand. The sun hit blonde hair and for a moment he thought Jaime had somehow come to his rescue, but then he heard his sister's voice.

"I will kill you if you touch him!" Cersei shouted. Her stance was unbalanced, and her blade shook even as she held it in front of her, but she stood her ground.

"Cersei," He rasped, "Run! You can't kill this thing!"

Cersei didn't respond, but her face went pale as the Nazgul laughed and moved towards her. Cersei tried a clumsy stab but the Nazgul easily parried the strike.

"Get back girl!" His uncle Kevan ran past him suddenly, shoving Cersei back towards him even as he lifted his own sword to block an attack.

Bronn re-appeared then, moving to Kevan's side as the two of them slashed at the Nazgul from each side, forcing it onto the defensive. He'd often heard that Kevan had been a fierce knight in his youth, but it was only now that he truly believed it. His uncle was moving with an almost fluid grace, shifting from attack to defense seamlessly as he and Bronn fought the wraith back.

Whatever hope he might have felt was short lived, for Kevan's age caught up with him as he slowed at just the wrong time, allowing the Nazgul to plunge its pale blade into his uncle's chest. Kevan staggered back, a shocked expression on his face as he fell. Cersei cried out in anguish and Tyrion felt numb.

"Help!" Bronn cried out as panic overtook him, "I-I can't hold him off!"

"Fire!" Cersei shouted suddenly, tears still welling in her eyes. An enraged sneer was coming over Cersei's face, one that Tyrion knew well. "Tyrion, find a stick, a branch, anything." She scurried forward on all fours toward Kevan and began rooting through his pockets. Seeing his confused look she made an angry noise, "A stick you fool! Find a gods damned stick!" That, and Bronn's continued cries, were enough to get him moving. He rolled over, suppressing a pained grunt as he looked through the grass near where he was laying. He found a decent sized branch, about twice the length of his arm, and pulled it close.

"I've got one!" he shouted. In the corner of his eye he was aware that there were more people coming toward them, but in the heat of the moment he couldn't see if they were friend or foe.

Cersei ran back to him, a small piece of steel and flint in hand, "Put it down and get back," she said firmly. She pulled a pale red bottle from her pocket and poured a small amount over the branch.

"Gods!" Bronn shouted, Tyrion looked up to see Bronn clutching his arm as he fell. The Nazgul turned back to them and he felt a cold fear grip him.

"Cersei," he breathed, "whatever you're going to do you must do it now!"

"Quiet!" she snapped as she struck a small piece of steel against the flint. Her hands were shaking, and she slipped and cut herself on the edged stone, she cursed as bright red blood rose from the wound. The Nazgul was nearly upon them now, as it raised its blade high Cersei cried out triumphantly. There was a sudden flash of light that nearly blinded Tyrion, and when his vision cleared again he saw that the stick Cersei had coated in the strange oil was now covered in a crackling blue flame.

Cersei lifted the burning branch and held it in front of her like a spear, for the first time since the encounter began the Nazgul seemed to hesitate, staying out of Cersei's reach. She screamed and jabbed it forward clumsily, causing sparks to fall and the flames to waver as the Nazgul was forced backwards.

From behind him he heard the sounds of battle, and trying to crane his head he saw that the fighting was moving towards them. Running at the head of the skirmish was the same figure he'd seen at the beginning of the battle, the tall man with the shining sword.

"Behind me!" he shouted as he leapt over Tyrion and to Cersei's side. Before she could react he'd taken the burning branch from her and with a quick motion had hurtled it into the Nazgul's robes, causing them to catch fire. It screamed again, this time in pain, and dropped its sword as it began running towards the river. A moment later it splashed in with a hissing sound, there was a sudden cool wind blowing eastward, but the Nazgul did not resurface.

Tyrion breathed out slowly, feeling a certain sense of satisfaction, followed by spinning as he fell back into the grass. He stared at the sky and listened to the sound of his own heartbeat. Things were growing blurry now, and he was tempted to close his eyes but stopped himself as he recalled a rhyme he'd read in a book long ago, _bump your head and go to bed if you wish to sleep like the dead!_ He forcibly blinked his eyes and tried to sit up straight.

There were figures around him now, some fighting, some shouting, "Another Halfling!"

He felt arms under his shoulders lifting him up, Cersei was shouting something too, and the man who had come to her side was fighting a number of tall orcs trying to get to him, but he felt too lightheaded to decide how he should feel about it.

He smiled to himself as the edges of his vision began to go white, _The Ring is gone, that's all that matters…_

 **A/N: No plan survives contact with the enemy, and that goes for the good guys and the bad.**

 **Lord Razer - My Aragorn is a bit closer to movie Aragorn than book Aragorn. The problem is book Aragorn is already pretty sure of himself and what he wants to do, one of the really good decisions Jackson made with the movies was to let the audience see Aragorn grow into his role as a leader, and I'm echoing that.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - The Fell Beast scene is lifted somewhat from the books, but there Legolas snipes it from a much longer range.**

 **U.N.S. - it's not so much that Aragorn is a direct threat to Tywin's interest, it's more that Aragorn complicates things with his principle ally. Tywin's going to resolve any succession arguments as quickly as he can, if Aragorn shows up and is immediately embraced by the people and lords of Gondor Tywin might even throw support behind him instead of Denethor if it means ending the dispute quicker.**

 **Deadblow13 - I'm just going to copy a comment I made about this from Spacebattles: To speculate a moment about how I would have done the story with Danaerys and Slavers Bay getting teleported the long game would mostly be her trying to hold off Sauron until her dragons were big enough to act as the usual trump card that they are for the Targaryen family. In the meantime Dany would be an easy enough ally of the free peoples, she's overly idealistic and hates slavery, and is unlikely to accept a subordinate position in Sauron's empire even if she could be tricked into fighting Gondor. She had decent advisers when she first began her anti-slavery crusade, and I'm pretty sure Denethor and Gandalf would act to make sure even better ones found their way to her. The biggest problem is that I don't see her being able to commit much to help in the war since her power base is so unstable, the slavers in Astapor and Ghis are going to think Sauron's pitch sounds pretty good, and the red priests are probably going to agree. Mostly the way I would have written that would be Dany struggling to stay on top with occasional help and advice from Middle Earth characters who want to keep her dragons and her supporters out of Sauron's clutches, it would have been at best an unnecessary distraction for Gandalf and co. in a time where they really don't need any.**

 **Mickj6 - Downfall was the inspiration for the scene actually**

 **Seanbob1 - Cersei's matured a bit, and if she did develop a similar infatuation with Aragorn as she did with Rhaegar I see it ending the same way as Eowyn's, Aragorn's got Arwen waiting for him, nobody could tempt him away from her.**


	110. Omake: A Roar Unheard II

**A Roar Unheard II**

 **The Lost Captain**

"Backs straight! Eyes ahead!" Lord Golasgil shouted as he walked through the ranks of his men. They were arranged on an earthen hillfort, the only defense the men of Anfalas had been able to prepare on such short notice. Though he'd gathered all the men he could from the nearby settlements it was still only a scant four hundred.

"Is everything ready?" He turned to see his oldest friend, Armin, walking towards him, hand on the pommel of his sword.

"I'm afraid we won't scare them away armed and armored as we are," Golasgil replied miserably, "At least a quarter of our "pikemen" are carrying fishing spears or pitchforks."

Armin shrugged, "I suppose you will have to be impressive enough for all of us, puff your chest out a bit, you haven't quite filled in your father's armor." Golasgil looked down suddenly, worried that the plate mail dangled too loosely over his frame. Armin just laughed, "Stop that! I was only joking, you look just like he did."

Golasgil glared at him, but although he wouldn't admit it the words were reassuring. He had worn the armor since the man's passing several years ago, but even after several visits to his house armorer it never felt as though it fit properly. Staring at his reflection in Armin's breastplate he had to admit he did resemble his father somewhat, they shared dark brown hair, a square jaw, and a towering form that was oft said to be a sign that the blood of Numenor was still strong in the family.

 _Father,_ he thought, _what would you do?_ He'd asked himself the same question at least once a day since a burst of light and song had dropped them into an unfamiliar world. He hadn't believed it himself until he'd seen where the borders of Imrahil's domain should have been. When it became clear that they bordered strange lands he'd sent riders in all directions calling for fighting men, but Anfalas and Andrast were wide and sparsely populated, even now most of the riders probably hadn't reached their destinations.

"Stop frowning so much," Armin muttered, scanning the horizon, "you only get one first impression."

"There are four thousand riders approaching," Golsagil replied, "we are outnumbered ten to one, why are you so calm?"

"To put it simply I don't expect to fight," Armin said as the first of the riders appeared over one of the hills in front of them, "look at that," he said, pointing at the first one, "they're not lowering lances, they're waving banners." He squinted his eyes, "It looks like the man who leads them takes a fish as his sigil…"

It wasn't long before the men reached them, and as Armin had predicted rather than charging up to them they brought their horses to a trot and then to a stop several hundred paces from the hillfort. One of the men, wearing shining mail beneath a bright red and blue cloak, rode past the rest with a pair of guards.

"In the name of my father, Lord Hoster Tully, and my King, Robb Stark, I, Edmure Tully, demand the commander of this garrison come forth and explain themselves!" he shouted.

"Explain ourselves?" Golasgil asked indignantly.

"My lord," Armin began, his tone becoming more formal, "Don't antagonize them-"

"Know this Edmure Tully!" He shouted back, "I am Lord Golasgil of Anfalas, is there any among this rabble with the authority to treat with me?"

Edmure Tully's face turned crimson, he looked as though he was about to shout something back, but another man rode up to him and began whispering in his ear. After a few minutes he scowled and nodded before gesturing for the man to ride forward. Golasgil held up his hand, signaling his own soldiers to yield as the messenger rode up to them. He was a lean and weathered man, and where the force below waved a banner with a white trout this man's cloak bore one colored black.

"Greetings Lord Golasgil," the man began, looking around the barricades at the Gondorian levys, "Edmure and I agreed it would be best if I came up here to speak with you."

"A decision I wholeheartedly agree with," Armin said, "Those two were about to draw swords on one another."

"Do not speak out of turn again," Golasgil said, "Else you will test the bonds of our friendship." He turned back to the messenger, "With whom am I speaking?"

"Brynden Tully," the man replied, "Edmure down there is my nephew."

"And why do you march on my lands?" he asked.

"We are at war with House Lannister," Brynden explained, "These are, these _were_ their lands..."

"There is no House Lannister in Anfalas," Golasgil replied, "if you require confirmation I will allow up to ten of your men to journey through my lands on the condition that they follow all laws of the Kingdom of Gondor in their search."

"A generous offer," Brynden Tully said, looking over them, "but unnecessary I think, something has happened… the Lannisters and their bannermen are gone from these lands and you stand in their place. On this front at least I think our war is over."

"Something _has_ happened," Golasgil agreed, "though whether your war here is over depends on the conduct of you and your liege lord."

Tully regarded him a moment, "King Stark is no conqueror if that is what you fear, if you wish to meet him you may return to Riverrun with me."

Golasgil thought about it a moment, glancing back at Armin he could tell his friend wanted to encourage him to do so. _This King Robb is my nearest neighbor… I would have to meet with him soon or later in any case._

"I will return with you," He decided, "Accompanied by one hundred of my men as guards."

Tully nodded, "That is reasonable for a man marching into an unknown camp. With the Lannisters gone our remaining enemies are far to the south, I expect a peaceable journey back to Riverrun. I'll have a raven sent at once to tell King Stark of your decision." He turned his horse and began riding back down to the assembled knights.

Golasgil breathed out as he rode away. He turned to see most of the men were relieved as well, except for Armin who wore a frown.

"Say your peace Armin," he said with a sigh.

"I was going to suggest you send an envoy," Armin replied, "This King Stark is at war, going yourself may imply familiarity."

He looked across the horizon at the strange landscape, "Whatever brought us here… I don't think it can be undone by the works of man. This King Stark is at the very least our closest neighbor, if the other options are indifference or contempt I will choose familiarity."

"He's not the only one you must consider," Armin said tersely, "We don't know who his enemies are, how strong they are, or even why they are fighting."

"How else are we to learn if we don't ask?" Golasgil said. He paused a moment, "Before we leave I will send orders back to the keep to have those who answer the call armed and prepared to march, if another army marches on Anfalas I'll meet it with more than a few hundred men with fishing spears."

…

 **The Reaver**

Asha Greyjoy was unsure of what to do, she had hoped to take the _Black Wind_ near Lannisport to scout the position of the Lannister fleet before returning to her father's side, but after a flash of light the Westerlands had seemingly disappeared in front of her very eyes, leaving empty waters. They'd sailed on for another two days on the strangely expanded sea before sighting a forested coastline with mountains in the distance.

They'd landed on a graveled beach, half the crew remaining with the ship and the rest coming with her as they marched inland, hoping to find someone, anyone, who could explain what had happened. They found no one, though strange red eyes watched them from the forests that night as they made camp.

On the second day of their search she told the men to fan out, she had a feeling they were being watched, and if their observers weren't hostile they certainly weren't friendly either.

"AH!" She heard one of the men near the back of the party scream.

"What is it?" She asked, pulling one of her axes and rushing back to the man's side.

"There was a man… maybe it was a man," the sailor muttered, "He was small, stunted, and he had beady red eyes. I tried to jump him but he stuck me with a dart!" The man pointed to a small wooden object sticking out of his leg. He plucked it angrily.

That was the last time she spoke with that man, for he fell over sick with a fever not an hour later. By sunset he was dead, the site of the wound swollen and red with infection.

"Poison darts," She muttered, "Whoever these people are they don't want us here…"

"Then let's burn their forest down," another sailor muttered, "Let's see how tough they are without trees to hide in!"

"No," She said firmly, "Not today at any rate… We'll come back with more men, more ships… if they have anything worth taking we'll take it." Even as she said the words they felt hollow, she knew the Ironborn would have little interest in raiding forest savages. _Perhaps they hold some hidden treasure, but like as not they're worse off than the dirt farmers on Stoney Shore._

As they reached the beach again she saw the rest of the crew was standing with their weapons draw a few dozen paces from a man she didn't recognize. As she moved closer she got a better look at him, he was tall and fair faced, with red hair and a short cropped beard. He wore a simple unadorned cloak with a seven pointed clasp on it, _an agent of the Faith?_ He looked like no Septon she'd ever seen, moreso with a sword on his belt and a bow over his shoulder.

"Greetings," The figure said slowly, "You are not Corsairs, nor are you men of Gondor, who are you?"

"We are Ironborn," She said, gripping her axe tightly, seeing another person after days of searching suddenly made her uneasy, _was it him who shot the dart?_ "Who are you and where are we?"

"I am Carahir, and this is the coast of Anfalas in the realm of Gondor," The man said, "I am a ranger in service to Lord Golasgil."

 _A brother of the Night's Watch?_ No, she decided, he was missing the telltale black cloak, and a lone brother of the Watch wouldn't announce himself without one for fear of being mistaken for a runaway.

"Throw down your weapons," She said suddenly, "You will come with us to Pike as my guest or my captive, the decision is yours."

The man raised an eyebrow and in a quick and practiced motion he drew his bow and nocked an arrow. Several of her own men shouted battle cries and prepared their own bows, and the men with axes and swords fanned out around him.

"A friendly and well-loved folk the Ironborn must be if this is how they greet strangers!" The man sneered, but he slowly released eased his bowstring back into position, "I'll come with you, but I'm keeping my weapons."

"You seem to be mistaken about who is making the decisions here," Asha said, a small grin forming on her face, _he's no soft hearted Greenlander at least._

"I'll not contest that," he replied, "but your decision is between taking me back alive and armed or dead and in the company of your men."

She laughed, "Fair enough," she made a gesture to the men, "Stand down, get the ship ready to sail." She holstered her own axe and walked to the man. He stood at least a head taller than her, grim and strong looking. "Let's go. You won't need to work on the ship, it's a short voyage over easy waters."

"Strange to see a vessel captained by a woman," Carahir said as he followed her to the _Black Wind_ , "Are there many like you among the Ironborn?"

She shook her head, "There aren't, but none of the men I've killed were any less dead for being slain by a woman."  
 **...**

 **The Songbird**

Sansa's sorrow had quickly given way to fear as King's Landing had fallen into chaos, and then to boredom as what was left of the Small Council had decreed she would be locked in her chambers, under guard by Meryn Trant and the Kingsguard at all times.

 _Father,_ she thought to herself as she looked out the window, _I'm so sorry…_ The Lannisters were gone now too of course, and nobody seemed to know where they'd gone. So long as they never came back Sansa didn't care, but a part of her worried it was some scheme of the queen's and that they would return at any moment to torment her again.

Suddenly someone shouted outside, and her heart leapt as she heard the sound of steel against steel. She gasped as pooled blood crept under the door. A moment later there was a crash as her door was forced inward off its hinges. Four men in unmarked armor entered the room, looking about.

"M'lady you're to come with us," one of the men said when he was satisfied the room was safe.

"Who are you?" She asked, "Who sent you?"

"We're servants of Lord Peytr Baelish," the man explained. He grabbed her roughly and drew a knife from his belt. She almost screamed but before she could he began cutting her hair, removing it where her neck met her shoulders. Next he pulled a bag from his belt, it contained a soft loamy substance that he rubbed onto her scalp, staining her hair a dark brown. _A disguise!_ She realized. "That'll do for now," the man said, "Follow me and keep quiet. We'll be taking a secret passage out of here, there _will_ be rats and there _will_ be spiders, but you must promise me you will not scream."

"I won't," she said firmly, after the horrors she'd been forced to endure in King's Landing mere vermin no longer seemed so frightening. "Where are you taking me?"

"Lord Baelish is preparing a ship to take the two of you to the Vale," the man explained, "Stannis Baratheon has declared he will not make peace with Robb Stark unless he bends the knee and Lord Baelish did not wish to see you as a hostage a second time."

 _There must be more to it than that,_ she thought, _what game is he playing?_ She decided it didn't matter so long as it got her out of the Red Keep. She followed the men out the door.

 **A/N: Here's the second part of A Roar Unheard, I was going to save it for the next story chapter but I've been sitting on an almost completed version for awhile so I just wanted to get it out.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Aegon the conqueror showing up with his army and dragons would be a massive game changer, whether he'd ally with Sauron or Gondor or just try to conquer both is up in the air. He'd definitely get seduced by the Ring if it found it's way anywhere near him, luckily for him though I think ASOIAF dragons could probably keep him safe from Nazgul.**

 **Lord Razer - The White Walkers would probably just try to kill everyone, and with no wall to slow them down it would be hard to stop them before they became a major threat. I don't think they'd pull it off though, they'd run into Bombadil, or Galadriel, or Sauron, all of which are magical forces I just don't think they can overcome. Raising the dead is impressive, but once it becomes clear how their army is structured I see the Middle Earth forces targeting the white walkers with their own heavy hitters, the Witch King will probably lead the Nazgul right into the heart of their army to take out the Night's King personally.**

 **Seanbob1 - there will probably be a few men of Dale and Laketown coming with the Dwarves**

 **Jackalope89 - Well Martin thinks that Jaime could beat Aragorn, I think Aragorn would probably win because he's got inhuman stamina. Jaime has a lot of impressive feats, he cut down 20 Northerners (and some of their better men too) in his suicide rush on Robb, but I don't think his cardio is good enough to run across open prairie for days on end.**

 **Guest - I wouldn't really call Aragorn emo in the movies, he's just not sure if he can do what everyone is asking him to do. In the books we're actually getting a look at Aragorn's last story, he's already had adventures and lead armies all over the world, the Fellowship is basically his final mission.**

 **ATP - "The Nazgul saved Clegane's soul" that's an interesting way of looking at it.**

 **Deadblow13 - Well as I've said before if anyone wants to do a similar fic with the other houses using the same premise I'd love to read it, I'll probably do some omakes for the others at the end but nothing as expansive as this.**


	111. CV The Ranger

**CV  
The Ranger**

The Nazgul's defeat seemed to break the will of Mordor's host, the smaller orcs began fleeing back toward the river crossing leaving the remaining Easterlings vulnerable to attack. Both the Uruks and the Rohirrim seized on the opportunity, almost forgetting their own conflict as they both descended upon what was now the weakest remaining group.

Suddenly Aragorn heard Cersei scream, followed by a rough voice, "Another Halfling!" it exclaimed.

As he whipped around, blade raised, he saw one of the Uruks scooping up a limp form that at first he took to be either Merry or Pippin before realizing it was neither. Before he could move to the stranger's defense the Uruks were running again, one of them began blowing the same horn he'd heard earlier when the battle had started. In a practiced maneuver the Uruks detached themselves from the ongoing fights and as one fled the battlefield, carrying their prisoner with them. Seizing the opportunity one of the Easterlings began shouting retreat orders as well, and the remaining men of the east raised their shields in a wall as they fell back towards the river. Rather than pursuing them the Rohirrim, led by a man with a long blonde beard, rallied and began moving toward him.

"Aragorn!" Legolas shouted, he and Gimli were helping Faramir hobble towards him as well, the man was covered blood and his face was pale.

"Gods no," Cersei whispered, she had hunched over her uncle Kevan, he wasn't breathing, and his eyes stared upwards sightlessly.

He slowly moved to her side and knelt down, "I'm sorry," he said as he reached to pull Kevan Lannister's eyes closed. As he did Cersei began crying openly, burying her face in her uncle's shoulder.

Faramir moaned as Gimli and Legolas laid him down, "the hobbits…" he whispered, "did-"

"Don't concern yourself with that now," Aragorn said as he looked over the wounds. Most seemed shallow, but at least one, across Faramir's thigh, seemed deep enough to be life threatening. "What happened?" he asked quietly as he pulled a roll of bandages from his satchel.

"They took him," Merry said suddenly, Aragorn hadn't noticed the hobbit approach, but he was there now, standing behind Gimli with a look of shock on his face, "They just grabbed Pippin and _ran._ "

"Faramir tried to get him back, but there were too many of them," Gimli growled, "The elf and I fought to his side, but we were barely able to get him out of there alive."

"This is a disaster," Legolas muttered, "Where is Clegane? Did he spirit Sam and Frodo to safety?"

Aragorn was about to point to where he'd seen Clegane fall against the Nazgul, but he realized that the man was gone. _He must have slipped away while we fought…_ "I don't know where they are," he said reluctantly. "Only that they were not captured by the forces of Mordor or Isengard."

There was a rumble of horses hooves as the Rohirrim arrived, "Cersei!" The blonde bearded man exclaimed, "What in the gods-" He stopped when he saw Kevan, sadness coming over his face. He stepped out of his saddle and moved to her side, "Uncle Kevan…" the man whispered, blinking away a few tears of his own, "Where is Tyrion?"

"The orcs," Cersei muttered, "They took him too…"

"Too?" the man asked, looking around, "Who else did they take?"

"Our friend Pippin," Merry said suddenly, the color returning to his cheeks, "They were after small folk like us." He sighed, "You're Ser Daven Lannister aren't you? You came to the Shire…"

"I am," the knight responded, "what business do Shirefolk have here? Why are Isengard and Mordor fighting over you?"

"We haven't the time to explain," Aragorn said, "We must treat the wounded and go after the orcs."

"A lie if I've ever heard one, keep your secret for now," Daven muttered, "but my Uncle is dead, sooner or later one of you will tell me why."

There was a sudden rustling of feathers as a large black bird landed on Daven's shoulder, "A Ravenshill raven!" Gimli exclaimed, "It does my heart good to see some sign of home on such a dark day."

"Well met kin of Durin," the bird cawed. He shifted to face Daven, "The lot from Mordor is running back home, tail between their legs," he regarded Aragorn a moment, "there was also a pair of halflings trying to paddle across the river on a log, friends of yours?"

"Yes!" Legolas said excitedly, "how far were they? Perhaps we could still catch up to them!"

"No," Aragorn said in a tired voice, "Frodo has chosen to go on without us. I have spoken with him and I feared for some time he might do this… something must have happened that helped him make the decision… I worry that Clegane might have had something to do with it."

"I saw him before we charged," Daven said, looking around, "and I don't see his body here."

"So he has disappeared as well…" Gimli muttered, "It seems our company has truly broken."

"Healer!" a deep voice shouted suddenly, causing them all to turn. A large knight, one arm hanging limply at his side, was helping another, a wild looking bearded man, carry a third between them.

Aragorn looked down at Faramir, "Go," the other ranger whispered, "I won't die in the time it takes you to go over there and back.

He just sighed and tightened the bandage, "No, with the bloodflow stopped I do not think you will die today at any rate," _Though if infection sets in…_ He pushed the thought from his mind as he walked to the newcomers.

"Something's wrong," the bearded man said in a frightened voice, "that black thing barely cut Bronn… he shouldn't be like this."

They laid the middle man down, as soon as Aragorn saw the cut his heart leapt, "This man has been wounded by a Morgul blade…" he pulled his knife and cut the man's sleeve off. The man had a lean appearance, not helped by the pale pallor that hung over him now. His eyes were closed and he was muttering under his breath as Aragorn inspected the wound.

"That creature was a Nazgul," he explained, "Did it touch either of you?"

"My arm," the armored man said suddenly, "when I speared that thing it went cold, I can't feel it…" he grimaced, "Is it… is it going to need to come off?"

"I do not think so," Aragorn replied, causing the man to sigh with relief, "the power of these things is not of this world, you have been harmed by it, but the damage is not of blood and bone. Use of your arm will return in time, stay in the sun and avoid the cold to speed your recovery." He rubbed a soft clothe through Bronn's wound and nodded, "We are fortunate, though the Morgul blade pierced his skin no fragment of it remains."

"Will he wake?" the bearded man asked.

"Not on his own," Aragorn replied, "he will need to breathe the vapor of a tea made from kingsfoil. I have some," he reached into his satchel again and produced a small purse filled with the herb. "All of you who were near the creature should breathe the vapors as well, lest you suffer lingering nightmares and doubts."

"Go down to the river and get a pot of water!" Daven ordered.

A moment later the men had returned with a brass pot even as another pair hurried to gather small twigs for a fire. While they did so Aragorn rolled and cracked the leaves in his hands, breathing lightly on them. Soon they had a small fire going, Aragorn dropped the crumbled herb into the pot.

"Give it a few moments," Aragorn said, "come to me when steam begins to rise from it." He walked back to Kevan, Cersei was still at his side.

"Do you have anything we could use to bury him?" she asked, standing up for the first time.

"We've a single small shovel for digging latrines," Daven replied, "Crakehall, Shagga!" he barked, "We'll leave you the shovel, when you have recovered you are to bury my uncle and mark the gravesite. When the war is over we will return to claim his bones and take them back to the Rock where they belong!"

"And what of me?" Faramir groaned, trying to sit up.

Aragorn rushed over and gently pushed him back down, "Don't tear those wounds open again…" He sighed, "Faramir I believe this is where we must part ways."

Faramir frowned, but then nodded, sweat pooling on his pale forehead, "Where will we meet again?"

"In Minas Tirith."

Faramir's eyes went wide and a smile came over his face, "Truly?"

Aragorn returned the smile, "Truly. Rest now, when your strength is regained go and tell the people of Gondor that their king has returned."

Faramir seemed suddenly at ease, leaning back with a dreamy look on his face, "I will do so… my king," he whispered.

"A king?" Daven asked skeptically, "You?"

"Disbelieve now if you wish," Legolas said, "in time proof will come."

Daven shrugged, "Call yourself a duchess if it pleases you, if you share my enemies we can be friends for now at least." He moved to Kevan's side a final time and unbuckled his sword belt, "I will carry my uncle's sword into battle I think." Suddenly he frowned, "There's something here…" the tip of a letter was sticking out of the side of Kevan's pocket, Daven withdrew it and opened it. Scanning the page a moment he raised an eyebrow, "You're Aragorn then?" Daven asked, "I think you might want to read this…" he handed Aragorn the letter.

The remaining members of the party were gathering around now, looking at him curiously, "To My Brother, the Lord Tywin Lannister," he began, reading it aloud to sate their curiosity. "I have entrusted this letter to a man known as Aragorn, son of Arathorn, it is my belief that he will reach you long before I can."

"He must have intended to give it to us when we parted ways," Legolas muttered.

"Keep reading," Cersei said.

Aragorn nodded and continued, "I have discovered that this man is none other than the lost king of Gondor." He stopped a moment and frowned, _how did he know?_ "He travels in the company of many who can confirm his identity, including Faramir, the steward's son."

"So he would have sent this letter with you and revealed you to his brother?" Gimli growled, "Dishonorable."

"We don't know that," Legolas said, "maybe he was going to tell us of the letter's contents."

"Secrets and betrayal are something of a family tradition," Daven said in a low voice, "Give me that letter back, I think I should read the rest of it myself." He his hand moved to the pommel of his sword.

"That's a fine beard young man," Gimli said gruffly as he raised his axe, "It would be a shame to have to hurt one of the few men I've met with any sense of style."

Before they could go any further Cersei sighed, "You both know me, let me read it." Aragorn met Daven's eyes a moment and the other man nodded. He handed the letter to Cersei.

"Since I learned this I have spent a great deal of time thinking about what we must do," Cersei read, "We have often used crises and unexpected events to advance ourselves, it would seem only natural to search for a way to do so again, or if no such opportunity presented itself to search for a way to make this man quietly disappear." She stopped a moment, gauging their reactions.

"That's a Lannister to be sure," Daven muttered, "read on."

"That was the way of Westeros, and it served us well," Cersei continued, "We are no longer in Westeros, that much was made clear at Osgiliath when we encountered the most terrible of the enemy's servants. New horrors I was prepared to accept, as I'm sure you were, that is the nature of all worlds after all, but when I came to Lothlorien I encountered wonders I did not expect. The elves are all they were said to be in the old tales and more. I have conversed at length with the elven lord Celeborn and I think I have come to understand something of the true magnitude of this war and it's meaning for all peoples. It is for this reason my brother that I ask you not to interfere in the return of this king, these are events that were set in motion long before we were born in a struggle older than House Lannister itself. To interfere now could bring about the downfall of all free peoples."

They were all silent a moment at that. Cersei's hands seemed to be shaking a bit, Daven just nodded quietly, and as he lay on the ground the corners of Faramir's mouth curled slightly into a grin.

"Is there any more?" Aragorn asked.

"There is," Cersei replied hesitantly, her eyes were tearing up and she sniffed before continuing, "On the matter of your daughter she has met, nay surpassed, expectations. I am proud to call her my niece and I will be bringing her with me when I return to Minas Tirith." Cersei wiped her face a moment with her hand, "Gods… I…" she folded the letter and looked to Daven and then to Aragorn, her eyes red.

Daven growled angrily, "I have failed you once Cersei, I hold no illusions about that, but for you and our family I will see Kevan avenged!"

"Vengeance…" Cersei replied quietly, "I've sought it many times, even now I want it… but that is not what I want from you this time Daven."

"Then what?" Daven asked.

"I spent most of my life wishing my brother would be gone," she replied, "it seems a cruel irony to be asking this now, but I want him back. Rescue Tyrion, and whatever debt you think you owe me will be forgiven."

"We will not abandon him to Saruman," Aragorn promised. He paused, "What will you do now Lady Cersei?"

She looked back to Faramir and to the other wounded men, "I will return to my father in Minas Tirith to tell him what has happened, to counsel him on the path my uncle would have." She studied the letter a moment, "He loved few others in this world, I often wonder if he loves me, but I know he loved my uncle. Kevan's final message must reach him."

"The course is set then," Daven said, "with our remounts we should have enough horses to ferry your party and to leave a few for the wounded."

The raven flapped his wings a moment, "I will begin tracking the orcs again! If they keep the small one who will I talk to among this lot?"

"I think you talk more than enough already, fly then you blasted bird," Daven shouted, "And don't get too close, I don't want to find you plucked and roasted when we catch up to them."

"Ser!" men shouted from where Bronn was laid out, "the brew is prepared!"

Aragorn lifted the pot by a small handle and set it near Bronn's limp form. He placed his hand on the man's head, his skin was cold and clammy, and sweat covered his brow. _To think that even a small cut from a Morgul blade can bring a man so far into the shadow…_ He could almost feel it, like an oily aura hanging over the two of them.

"Bronn," he said quietly, "Can you hear me?"

The man groaned, "Who's there?" he whispered quietly, "It's cold…"

Aragorn moved to the side of the pot and slowly blew the vapor over Bronn's face as he kept his hand on the man's forehead. _Walk out of it Bronn, let the darkness fall away._ Suddenly Bronn opened his eyes and gasped, his eyes darting to all of them as he tried to sit up again.

"Well," Bronn said panting, "it's too nice to be one of the hells… and it's not heaven because those two are here," he nodded at Shagga and Crakehall.

"Good to see you again too you bastard," Crakehall replied with a smile.

"Keep the cut clean and continue to breathe the vapors from this," Aragorn said, pointing to the pot. "All of you who were near it should, else you will suffer from nightmares and doubt."

"You've saved my life stranger," Bronn said, wincing as he tried to move the arm, "Who are you?"

"Aragorn, son of Arathorn," he replied.

"It's time get moving!" Daven shouted, walking back to them. He did a double take when he saw Bronn was awake, "You're quite the healer," he said as he regarded Aragorn.

"The hands of a king are the hands of a healer after all," Faramir mumbled as he closed his eyes, a smile on his face.

 **Jackalope89 - The Grey Company has already joined up with Jaime and is moving in Aragorn's direction, they're some of the best rangers around. As for Anfalas they can probably raise around 5,000 men, a very small army by Westerosi standards, but enough to make a difference depending on where they're deployed and with their Numenorean blood and bravery they can probably punch above their weight. That said Golasgil is definitely negotiating from a position of weakness.**

 **Seanbob1 - The Tyrells have a pretty huge army and under Randyll Tarly they could probably turn back the force that attacked Pellennor fields, but ultimately no force of arms will win the day.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - well there's no Sauron but there are Greyjoys, Boltons, and other unfriendly types**

 **Deadblow13 - I've got no idea when I'll be finished, as it stands we're moving into The Two Towers and it's taken like six months, but there was also a lot of worldbuilding and set up before that so who knows.**

 **U.N.S. - We'll probably check in on Tywin and Cerenna at some point, but Rohan will be the next "focus."**


	112. CVI The Shieldmaiden

**CVI**

 **The Shieldmaiden**

"Forth Eorlingas!" Eowyn shouted as the knights charged towards the Fords of Isen. She spurred her own mount out slightly ahead of the others, lowering her lance as the defenders hastily formed a line. The point of a large pike passed her head with a whooshing sound as she ducked and shoved her lance into the armpit of one of the Uruk-Hai. Dropping it she drew her sword and held it high as her horse continued through the shallow line of defenders.

As she broke through their ranks she heard splashing and she realized that her horse had entered the river shallows. Pulling the reins back she brought the animal around to prepare for another charge, but hesitated as she saw there was little need. No more than a few hundred orcs had defended the ford, and they had been easily routed by the attack. Those who had survived the initial charge were being cut down, a few were attempting to flee but there was no escaping the charge.

 _Most of their forces have retreated to Isengard,_ she thought as she looked to the north, _Saruman knows the noose is tightening._ The night before the majority of the orcs garrisoning the ford had abandoned their posts, marching back towards the ring of Isengard. At first Eowyn had worried they were preparing some trap, as they had against Theodred, but the reason for their retreat had become apparent that morning when the first of the Lannister outriders had been spotted, their red banners visible from over a mile away on the flat prairie.

Grimbold rode to her side, blood dripping from his axe, "The enemy is vanquished. Our losses are light. What are your orders M'lady?"

"Gather the bodies and burn them," she replied, "Our allies will arrive soon and with a host that size they will want to camp on the riverbank." She thought a moment, "Set our own camp near the river as well. We will be going back and forth between them often I think, I've much to tell my brother and I imagine he has just as much to say to me."

"It will be good to see Prince Eomer again," Grimbold said, smiling, "I'm certain he will be pleased with how we've handled things."

"Pleased enough to leave me in command?" She asked quietly.

Grimbold shifted uncomfortably, "I mean no offense Lady Eowyn, there is no man who could have done what you have done for us, but your brother has returned… it is his place to lead us."

She sighed, "It is… though I hope he will see the wisdom in allowing me to ride at his side."

Grimbold had no response, instead he rode back to the rest of the men and began shouting her orders. The orcs had been slaughtered to the last, and the men were now dismounting and moving the bodies. She removed her helmet, savoring the cool breeze blowing through her hair. She slide out of her saddle and bent low, filling her cupped hands with river water before bringing it to her face. She stopped a moment as she saw her reflection, her face was dirty, her hair tangled, a bit of black blood stained her cheek. She opened her hands, letting the water fall back into the river with a splash, _Let Eomer see me as a fellow warrior,_ she thought, _let there be no illusions about what I have done in his absence._

There was a horn blowing now as the first of the soldiers and wagons appeared over the horizon, the countless banners waving as the men marched. She donned her helmet and began riding towards the approaching army alone, scanning their ranks and hoping to catch sight of Eomer or his riders. Some of the knights cheered as she rode by, others waved their banners. It seemed odd to her to see so many different standards in the same army, some were fine cloth with grand designs bearing ships, swords, and animals of all sorts, some were little more than rags stained one color or another.

The men themselves reflected the banners, many of the footmen wore the uniformed red Lannister armor as Daven had when she had first met him, but others, peasant levies by her guess, wore little more than boiled leather, though they were carrying what looked like new steel weapons.

Finally she saw the familiar white stallion on a green field fluttering near the center of the column. She saw her brother, standing out from the others in his ornamented armor and riding between an enormous man on a draft horse and a handsome blonde man in Lannister red.

"Eomer!" She shouted excitedly, her concerns melting away as she saw her brother. He looked around for her, and when his eyes landed on her a look of confusion came over his face before he smiled and spurred his horse towards her.

As they reached one another they dismounted and embraced, "You look like a man Eowyn!" Eomer said, still grinning as they separated, "I didn't recognize you at first!"

"It seems I'm not the only one who has had an eventful year," she said, pointing to the finely woven silk banner that was now being carried towards them by a young man, "As I recall you were supposed to travel to Lannisport on a brief diplomatic mission, now here you are leading an army of Westermen and engaged to be married to a princess of Casterly Rock."

"A _Lady_ of Casterly Rock," he replied, "As for the rest… I'll explain it in detail later, just don't believe anything you hear the minstrels singing about until I tell you first." She eyed him quizzically and he sighed, "There are a number of songs written about my stay in the Westerlands, some of them have some rather _lewd_ verses which are not entirely accurate." Maybe it was her brother's red face, maybe it was the joy from seeing him again after being apart so long, but she started laughing and didn't stop until she nearly couldn't breathe.

"It's good to see you again Eomer," She said when she regained her composure.

"And you as well," he said, looking behind her at the fords, "Though I had hoped we might help you in taking the river crossing…"

"Most of the orcs had already fallen back to Isengard," she replied, "I saw no reason in waiting for your force to arrive, we took the Fords of Isen with few losses." She did her best to keep her voice calm and level, while she was partly telling the truth she had ordered the attack in part because she had wanted to greet her brother in the aftermath of a victory, _her_ victory.

"Lord Eomer will you be continuing on with the army or returning to the Rohirrim host with your sister?" They both turned to see the young man with the fanciful Rohirrim banner standing at attention, his chest puffed outward and his gut sucked in.

Eomer rolled his eyes and smiled, "Eowyn this is my squire, Podrick Payne. It is his duty to carry my banner and ride beside me in battle, furnishing me with new weapons as I need them."

Eowyn looked over Podrick a moment, "he seems… dedicated."

"It is their custom that young men wishing to be knights must serve under a distinguished warrior," Eomer explained, "I am teaching him riding and swordplay in exchange for his service."

"A fair bargain if you teach him half as well as you taught me," Eowyn remarked.

"My Lord?" Podrick asked again, making no comment on their conversation.

"I'll stay with this host until we make camp," Eomer replied, "When I return to the Rohirrim you will bear my standard Podrick."

The boy nodded, "Yes M'lord." With that he turned in a practiced motion, still holding the green banner high, and marched back to the horses.

"I'm going to prepare my riders," Eomer said, moving back to his own mount, "They followed me through this entire ordeal, it's only right to ride back into Rohan with them."

Eowyn nodded, "I will prepare the camp for your arrival."

A few hours later both armies had established their camps, and men from both armies were already crossing the river to trade supplies and stories with their newly arrived allies. Eowyn smirked as she passed a Westerosi minstrel playing for a group of Rohirrim gathered in front of their tents, the song he sang mentioned her brother "ravishing" a young woman on the eve of battle. The camp seemed in good spirits, and cheers erupted as Eomer rode over the river with his riders, Podrick Payne bringing up the rear and holding the banner of Rohan high. She followed his procession on foot to a large tent in the center of the camp where her own horses were tied. Eomer saw her and waved her over as he dismounted his own horse and handed the reins to Podrick.

"Jaime Lannister has invited us and our Marshals to feast with him and his bannermen tonight," Eomer said, "I've already told Grimbold."

She nodded, "Should we bring anything? Food? Drink perhaps?"

Eomer shrugged, "The Lannisters are fond of saying that they pay their debts, and they believe themselves to be in ours, I'm sure they'd take it as a near insult if we brought anything ourselves." He paused a moment, "Do you have any mead? The Westermen are skilled winemakers, but I've missed our own brews."

"We've been encamped for several weeks now, with supplies coming in from all over Rohan," she replied, "I am sure there is at least one barrel of mead in our wagons."

"If there is have it sent to the Lannister camp, I'm sure they'll forgive us that at least."

"Is there anything else?" She asked. He hesitated a moment, and she could see it in his eyes, _this is it. He will ask me to return to Edoras…_

"Who now watches over our uncle?" Eomer asked quietly.

"Hama defends Edoras while the servants of Medusheld care for the king," she replied.

"Now that I have returned sister… I think it would be for the best if you returned to his side," Eomer said.

Though she'd known it was coming she still felt anger rising within her, "And what can I do that a trained healer cannot do better? You need me _here,_ not hundreds of miles away at the bedside of a sick man!"

"It's not just that and you know it," he said sternly, "A member of our house is needed in Edoras to rule over Rohan. I am not asking you to step away in dishonor, rather I ask you to serve Rohan in another way."

"If the people need one of us in Edoras so badly why not you?" She asked bitterly, "Why must _I_ be the one left behind?" She blinked away a tear, desperate to avoid showing any sign of weakness, "To prepare horses and beds for those who return? To be a vessel for another's glory?"

"Eowyn!" he said sharply, "You have won more glory than any hundred men, I have no doubt you could outfight any hundred men, but that is not what is needed from you now!"

She glowered at him a moment, "Now that you have returned you are the regent of our uncle the king, as any rider of Rohan would I will obey your command… foolish though it is." Without another word she turned and entered the tent angrily, ignoring his calls for her to return.

She considered skipping the feast that night, but after some thought she reluctantly decided she would attend, as a courtesy to the Westerosi lords if not her brother. She donned the only dress she had bothered to bring, a thick dark green woolen thing that looked like a better fit for a farmhand than a courtly lady, and over it she wore a polished cuirass with a reared horse etched on the center. She walked out of the tent to see that Eomer's horse was already gone from the stables the men had hastily constructed. She moved to mount her own horse but realized halfway through the motion that the dress wouldn't permit it. With an angry sigh she grabbed bucket of feed, turned it over, and used it as a mounting block. She mounted sidesaddle and spurred her horse across the river towards the Lannister camp.

Most of the men seemed to have gathered around campfires, and the smell of cooking meat permeated the air. A number of men yelled and waved at her, though a few were Rohirrim most were not, for a moment she wondered how they recognized her as Lady Eowyn of Rohan, but then she remembered she was likely the only woman in either army.

She reached the large crimson tent in the center of the camp, there was music emanating from inside and dozens of men were going in and out, carrying trays full of drinks and food. She walked inside to find most of the men were sitting on the ground, though a number of low cut tables were placed throughout the tent for men to set their plates and cups on.

"Eowyn!" her brother shouted, beckoning her over to one of the short tables, this one had a finely adorned red tablecloth on it. He seemed happy to see her, she smiled back, deciding that she would leave their dispute behind for now. "This is Ser Jaime Lannister," Eomer said, gesturing to the fair faced blonde man she'd seen earlier, "Lord Tywin's son and the commander of this army," he nodded towards a large bearded man sitting with them, "and this is Lord Forlong of Lossarnach."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance my lords," she said mildly as she curtsied before sitting, "It is good to see our kin from Lossarnach, distant though they may be-"

"Distant?" Forlong laughed, "Your grandmother was of my house! Morwen Steelsheen she was called. She left for Rohan when I was young, but you and your brother still have something of her looks, it's in the face I think, though you have your grandfather's fair hair rather than the black she was named for!"

"In my memories her hair was gray," Eowyn said with a smile, "I too only knew her in my youth, though she was always kind to Eomer and I." She turned to Jaime, "You are a Lannister by looks to be sure Jaime. You have your sister's hair and eyes, and a bit of your brother's smile."

Jaime raised an eyebrow, "You met Cersei?"

"She and your uncle Kevan came through Edoras, they were on a diplomatic mission to the lady Galadriel in Lothlorien."

His brow furrowed, "Cersei was on a diplomatic mission?"

"She fell into grief when she heard of the traitor king's death," Eowyn explained, "though she found it in her to carry on after some words from your brother Tyrion."

Jaime leaned back a moment, the confusion apparent on his face, "So Cersei is not only on a diplomatic mission, but was comforted by _Tyrion?_ "

"Is it so strange for a brother to comfort his sister after such a loss?" she asked.

"They don't get along," Jaime said hurriedly, "I was hoping Tyrion would be with your party, where is he?"

"I sent Tyrion north to prepare the Wold and the Undeeps for our campaign," she said. She paused a moment, _If Eomer plans to send me away in any case I need not fear embarrassment,_ "I was told that Tyrion came to Rohan fleeing your father… Is it true he tried to kill you?"

There was a sudden silence around the table, and Eomer was staring at her in shock, "Sister," he began, "That's not-"

"He did," Jaime said, nodding, "He was corrupted by the sorcery of Mordor."

"So he was merely bewitched?" she asked.

"No," Jaime said with a sigh, "There was…" he paused, "Tyrion had reasons for wanting me dead that had nothing to do with Mordor or the enemy, ask me no more." He reached for a wine cup and drank, "This is a celebration!" he said with a wide smile that Eowyn saw through easily, "Why should we trouble ourselves with unpleasant thoughts? Our armies have united and the Wizard's defeat is nigh!"

"I can drink to that!" Forlong rumbled, seizing the opportunity to change the topic, "So how will we approach the fortress?"

The three men began discussing the various ways the two armies could strike at the Ring of Isengard. She found herself listening intently as Jaime began describing how the catapults would be constructed and stones cut, in spite of her skill with a sword she knew little of siegecraft.

 _What does it matter?_ Her thoughts intruded harshly, _you will not see a siege…_ "My friends if you will excuse me I am going to get some air." Her brother looked as though he was about to say something, but she stood up again before he could. As she exited the tent she looked to where the horses were tied up, thinking for a moment that she might simply return to her own camp, but another thought struck her.

"You!" she asked one of the servants, who jumped and nearly dropped his tray of what looked to be meat mounted on small spears, "Where are your weapon stores?"

The man struggled a moment to balance while pointing until she moved her own hand to steady the tray, "There," he said, pointing to a line of plain uncolored tents a few hundred yards away, "if you have need of new steel m'lady you can find it there, though there are no smiths working now."

"You have my thanks," she said as she handed the tray back to him.

She walked alone to the tents the man had pointed to, no one disturbed her and as the server had said there were no smiths nor guards on duty. _What manner of weapons has Eomer purchased for us…_ she walked into the first of the tent to find a rack of shields and swords, she picked up one of the blades and weighed it in her hand. _Fine steel,_ she slashed it through the air, savoring the *whoosh* as she did so.

"Be careful with that." She whirled around to see Jaime Lannister had followed her, his cheeks were slightly flushed, but his voice was steady, "You went to get some air only to enter another tent? So which of us did you take offense to? Forlong or myself?"

"My brother," She said bitterly, "He wishes for me to return to Edoras."

"He said something about that," Jaime said, eyeing the sword, "You're not going to try killing him are you?"

"The house of Eorl has not fallen so far as House Lannister in that regard," she said, placing the blade back on the rack, "I simply wished to sample your smiths work."

"He fears for your safety more than he will admit," Jaime said, following her as she moved over to the shields.

"I know he does what he does out of love for me," she said as she hefted a steel kite shield bearing a black bat in a yellow circle, "But to cage me again would do me more harm than any of the enemy's swords ever could."

"I'd wager you've seen enough good men die that you wouldn't say such a thing lightly, woman or no," Jaime said crossing his arms, "but would it really be so terrible to return to Edoras?"

"I will not let my fate be dictated to me," she said firmly, "Let "propriety" hang."

Now he broke into a full grin, "I think I said something like that to my father when I first joined the Kingsguard… that shield is far too heavy for you."

She tried to heft the shield again and realized he was right. The two of them moved down the rack to a series of smaller shields. She frowned as she came to one of them, picking it up she saw that it was rusted, the painted sigil flecked and cracked. Vaguely she could make out what looked like a white tree with a blood red smile matching its leaves.

"This one doesn't seem to be very well taken care of," she remarked, but Jaime Lannister was just staring at it intently, "Ser Jaime?"

"It can't be…" he muttered as he took the shield from her, "Certainly not the same one…"

"What is it?" she asked.

"A ghost," he said, seeing her look he pointed to the faded sigil, "The knight of the laughing tree I mean."

"Do you recognize this emblem?" she asked again.

"I was fifteen when I joined the Kingsguard," he began, "It was at the Tourney of Harrenhall, it was the biggest event the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen, knights came from all corners of Westeros to compete, and there were lords from every family worth mentioning."

She hefted the shield and braced it, in spite of the wear it felt like it was a good weight"Did you participate in this tournament?"

"No," he said, regret entering his voice, "As his first order King Aerys forbade me from entering, he commanded me to return to King's Landing. The rest I only know from rumor, but the day after I left a mysterious knight appeared, he covered his face and carried this shield… or a shield with this sigil on it at any rate, and he unhorsed three men in three jousts. The King, in his madness, thought that I had returned and donned this guise in spite of his order."

"Was it you?"

He chuckled, "No, I obeyed every order Aerys ever gave me save for the last one. The knight of the laughing tree disappeared after those jousts, the king sent men to look for him but his identity is as much of a secret now as it was then. I know they found his shield, but there's no way it could have found its way here after all these years, this must be a copy… the knight's final mystery I suppose."

He took the shield from her and put it back on the rack, "We should return to the feast, Forlong was distracting your brother for me, but even his stories can only go on so long."

She followed him reluctantly, her eyes lingering on the shield a moment before they left the tent. _Unknown after all these years… in this Westerosi armor a man's face is fully obscured._ A strange feeling came over her and she struggled not to smile to herself as the beginning of a plan started to form, _Perhaps the Knight of the Laughing Tree will ride once more…_

 **A/N: There are a number of theories as to the identity of the knight of the laughing tree, the most convincing one in my opinion is that "he" was Lyanna Stark avenging Howland Reed's honor.  
**

 **Weylandcorp4 - What kind of author would just leave Clegane's fate unresolved like that?**

 **Jackalope89 - Well even without Numenorean blood LOTR men are a lot more "heroic" than most ASOIAF armies, and as we've seen throughout history bravery and discipline can do wonders.**

 **Guest - Eowyn was borderline suicidal in the books and that's why she wasn't nearly as affected by the "fear aura" as others, she still got sick and tired after the battle though.**

 **Wen Vallejos - I have to run your comments through google translate so if I misunderstand what you're saying blame them. Sandor is still alive, but he is missing.**

 **Bakkughan - We'll reach that 1k mark before the story is over I'm pretty sure.**

 **Deadblow13 - The whole utilitarianism argument Varys is promoting always bugged me too, I don't think it matters much to the smallfolk whether it's the Targaryens or Baratheons sitting on the Iron Throne, under the Targs Westeros doesn't seem to have changed much in 300 years, though I guess the dragons were at least a source of stability.**

 **Seanbob1 - Playing the Game of Thrones with Aragorn and Arwen is probably a bad idea even without accounting for their potentially long lifespans.**


	113. CVII Saruman of Many Colors

**CVII**

 **Saruman of Many Colors**

Saruman waited at the top of the tower of Orthanc quietly, his long beard swaying in the wind. From the East, a flying orc approached, it's batlike wings silhouetted against the rising sun. It dove low before leveling in a graceful motion and landing. As it did so it bent, it's head bowed.

"Wise one," it began, "Ugluk wishes you to know that we have captured two of the halflings."

He frowned, "There were four…"

"We beg forgiveness," the orc pleaded, "but there were enemies, men and orcs, one of the Nine was with them."

Fear gripped him, "Were the other two captured by agents of Mordor?"

"No," the orc replied, "they escaped and are believed to be in the company of the men who attacked us. These same men now pursue Ugluk's company."

He gripped his staff silently, thinking, _They pursue Ugluk's band though they have the other two hobbits in their possession…_ He smiled, _one of those captured must have the Ring!_ He waved dismissively at the orc, "Rest tonight, return to your commander at dawn and tell him that he has done well." _Ugluk was handpicked for this task, he will abandon their armor so as to move faster, force so much orc-draught down their throats as to nearly cause death… Even the Rohirrim will have difficulty keeping pace with them._

He stared down at the river Isen and frowned again, _their forces will have met now… how can my prize reach me while they besiege the Ring of Isengard?_ He sighed angrily and began descending down the staircase to the main chambers of the tower again. Qyburn was waiting for him a few floors below, in a chamber where he'd had a large table in the shape of Middle Earth carved, the new peninsula of the Westerlands jutting outward from the White Mountains.

"Ravens have come for you," the maester said as he studied the table intently.

He raised an eyebrow, "Westerosi or Crebain?"

"Westerosi," Qyburn replied, walking to him and handing him a small stack of letters.

He regarded them a moment, "Is it possible some remnant of the Faith Militant has remained loyal?"

"No my lord," Qyburn said with a sigh, "It seems that the Lannisters have come into possession of at least one of the ravens we trained to return to Isengard… these letters are from them."

Saruman took the first of the letters, noting the elaborate lion seal set in red wax, "What is the purpose of writing me? Is Jaime Lannister really so much of a fool that he believes a peaceful resolution is possible?"

Qyburn laughed, "You would not have cared for Westerosi politics I think, a great deal of it was saying things that didn't need to be said to satisfy protocol and honor."

"We shall see," Saruman muttered as he tore open the seal.

 _To Saruman the White, Lord of Orthanc_

 _I, Jaime Lannister, greet you on behalf of my father Tywin Lannister, King of Casterly Rock and the Westerlands. I am not sure what there is to be said between us at this point, but my advisors have advised me to treat with you in some manner, and they are watching me write this even now and suggesting terms I should offer you. To that end I demand that your armies stand down, that you give me the keys to the tower of Orthanc, and surrender yourself into my custody. I promise you a comfortable captivity should you agree._

 _Hear Me Roar_

 _Jaime Lannister._

"As though anyone would be fool enough to peaceably surrender to a Lannister…" he muttered as he tore the letter down the center.

"There was another one," Qyburn said, handing him a letter with three dogs across the seal.

He frowned as he took it, _House Clegane?_ He opened the seal and began reading, the first thing he noticed was the flowing and exquisite penmanship, in the margins of the letter was a finely sketched scene depicting a hobbit in a feathered cap leading three dogs in some manner of hunt.

 _To Saruman the White_

 _By the authority of the Thain of the Shire Paladin Took and the Mayor of Michael Delving Whil Whitfoot I am writing to inform you that a warrant for your capture has been issued, to be carried out by members of the First Shire Expeditionary as they see fit, with full approval to carry out your execution if you refuse to cooperate._

 _I have also been authorized to seize your assets as compensation for damage caused to the premises of the Green Dragon Inn and Pub, as well as to replace lost crops and damaged structures on the Maggot family farms._

 _I do hope you will consider coming quietly and avoiding unpleasantness._

 _Chief Shirriff Robin Smallburrow,_

 _First Shire Expeditionary Force_

He stared at it a moment and began laughing, his mirth building until Qyburn seemed concerned. He folded the letter and placed in a pocket inside his robe, if nothing else the thought of _hobbits_ of all creatures being his downfall was an amusing one.

"I wouldn't bother with the rest," Qyburn said, "they're mostly from minor houses hoping you'll satisfy their honor by bothering to respond to them."

"They'll be waiting some time then…" he muttered, "Maester Qyburn, you said that some of the Dunlendings had spotted a force of Hobbits in Enedwaith?"

"Yes my lord," the maester replied, "perhaps five hundred."

"They are Shirefolk, soft… of no consequence," he said as he walked to the carved table, "the time is fast approaching for our final play."

"I ordered the force guarding the fords to withdraw as you commanded," Qyburn said as he moved a carved orc back towards the miniature ring of Isengard. "Is it wise to allow their armies to combine?"

"Armies… fortifications…" Sarmuman muttered, "Soon they won't matter. The One has been captured by Ugluk's force."

Qyburn was quiet a moment, "Then our final victory rests on making sure it can reach us…"

"Or that we can reach it," Saruman said, "We will draw the enemy in," he moved several carvings meant to represent the Lannister and Rohirrim armies, "allow them to bring their full strength to bear against the Ring of Isengard where they will break like the waves of the ocean against the shore."

"We have supplies to last for months," Qyburn said nodding, "and the wonderful thing about orcish armies is that they're far less… picky about their rations that their human counterparts."

"Such extreme measures won't be necessary," Saruman said with a smile, "When Ugluk is within reach we will force a break in their lines, I will personally lead the Uruk-Hai through them to Ugluk and with the ring in my hands the enemy force will be _undone._ "

"Gods above," Qyburn whispered, barely containing his glee, "We're really going to do this…"

"We are," Saruman said, placing a hand on the other man's back, "By the time the Dark Lord himself sallies forth to contest ownership of the Ring my mastery over it will be complete. The world will not fall into darkness, nor stagnate endlessly as mortals squabble in the mud." He ran his hand over the table, imagining the world as it would be, "Expansion and ambition will be the ideals of the new age."

"A dream worth dying for," Qyburn said with a small grin.

"Which projects are ready?" Saruman asked, changing the subject, "when the time comes we will need a way to quickly cause a gap in their lines if not break them entirely."

Qyburn grinned, "Meet me in the chambers below in an hour. You've been far too busy master Saruman, allow yourself the luxury of seeing me test a weapon in person."

Saruman smiled at the man's enthusiasm, but nodded, "Go and make your preparations then."

It wasn't long before Saruman was descending into one of the pits of Isengard in one of the wooden elevators. He took a moment to savor the smells of the smoke and the ringing of the hammers and anvils below. The pits of Orthanc were far from pleasing to the eye, but he had always found beauty in utility.

Qyburn was waiting above a small arena where the new litters of wargs were trained, typically they would be thrown in after a few days without feeding to eliminate the smaller and weaker of the group and even now in cages along the side a number of the creatures barked and snarled angrily. In the center was a single Uruk-Hai, though as Saruman approached he noted it's skin was grey and mottled, and it's eyes appeared somewhat glazed over.

"It seems… sick," Saruman said as he peered curiously over the railing.

"In a way you could say that it is," Qyburn explained, "Before the Arrival I treated many men's injuries using milk of the poppy and other substances to dull the pain. I noticed that men who resorted to such things frequently would have dulled senses and feelings, even when they had gone days without using them."

"So you've created a creature that cannot feel pain?" Saruman asked.

"By replacing some if it's blood over long periods of time, yes," Qyburn said, nodding, "Unfortunately the subjects were far too passive after the procedure, they had to be recycled." He pointed to an orc who was walking towards the mottled Uruk with a small vial. Slowly the mottled orc brought the container to its lips and drank deeply.

For a moment there was quiet as the surrounding orcs watched their grey skinned brother in the center of the pit, they jumped back as it roared suddenly, lips curled back revealing massive yellow fangs. There were a few swords on the side of the pit, but rather than reaching for one the creature flexed its thick hands, causing claws about an inch long to extend from its fingertips.

"Release the wolves!" Qyburn shouted. At his command the orcs began to lift the steel grates holding the wargs back, releasing four of the creatures.

They ran at the mottled orc, foaming spit flying from the corners of their mouths. The orc's eyes seemed to focus a moment, and in a smooth motion it brought its clawed hand underneath the first warg's head, ripping its jaw free in a smooth motion. The wargs paused, skittering back and trying to circle the orc in the small pen, but before they could attack again the orc leapt at one, biting it savagely on the neck even as its curved claws tore into the animal's side. The other two wargs rushed forward, biting at the orc's side, but though they each tore a chunk of flesh away the wounds didn't gush blood, they only slowly oozed a black ichor.

"Impressive," Saruman said as the orc stood up again, taking no notice of the wounds in its side. "What was that solution?"

"A refined orc-draught," Qyburn explained, "Something else dies with the ability to feel pain it seems, without it they are sluggish and dull."

"How long do they remain alert?" Saruman asked, watching as the orc throttled another warg, cruel claws ripping into its flesh.

"A few hours at most," Qyburn said with a sigh, "After which they drop dead regrettably. They are useless for a lengthy campaign, but sending them at the enemy siege lines will create the opening you need."

Saruman stroked his beard thoughtfully, _If they could be supplied with a constant mixture of the orc draught…_ he sighed, it was another project he didn't have time for. "How many are ready now?" he asked.

"Three hundred," Qyburn responded.

"When the time comes we will supplement their attack with a bombardment of flash powder," Saruman decided, "The enemy will be in chaos and we will be free to sally forth and claim our prize."

In the pit below there was a yelping as the orc slew the final warg with a sickening crunch.

 **A/N: Double posting because these are both a little short, reviews are in the next chapter.**


	114. CVIII The Hound

**CVIII**

 **The Hound**

Sandor Clegane trudged miserably along the river's edge. He'd chased after Frodo and Sam after the Nazgul had attacked, but he could find no trace of the hobbits in the small copse of trees near the river. He'd returned to the battlefield to find the fighting over, he briefly saw Aragorn treating some of the wounded, and a part of him wanted to walk out to the other man and make a full confession of what he'd done, but he hesitated.

 _No,_ a dismal voice had said inside of him, _You failed them, you failed all of them,_ you _broke the fellowship Sandor Clegane and now Frodo and Sam are gone._ He'd growled angrily, taking one last look back at his friends before he began walking south.

He'd spent much of his life alone, but this was the first time he'd truly felt the weight of solitude. He'd become used to other voices around him, discussing the journey, sharing stories, or talking about nothing at all. Now the silence was deafening, forcing him to listen to thoughts he'd have preferred to ignore.

 _He should have given it to me. I've saved his life enough times to earn some trust._ He scowled, _Or have I? I got closer to hurting Frodo and Sam than any of the orcs did…_ He remembered what Galadriel had told him, _Will the Hound or Sandor Clegane survive this journey?_ He sneered and kicked a nearby rock into the river angrily, _The Hound is alive and well._

He continued South until the sun set and he forced himself to stop and rest. His sleep was deep, but this only made his nightmares that much more vivid. At first he was merely fleeing from black robed figures, but as the dream went on they fell away, leaving him screaming as the world around him seemed to burst into flames. The fire parted ahead of him and he ran for the opening, but a massive figure blocked his way.

"Hello runt," Gregor bellowed, "How long has it been since we've spoken?"

"Y-You're dead," Sandor managed as he reached for the sword across his back, but he felt panic as he realized it wasn't there.

"All men must die Sandor," Gregor said with a chuckle, "Let's go and collect our final reward together, we've certainly earned it." Behind his brother the forms of many men appeared, some had gashes across their chests, others had missing limbs.

The smallest, a red haired boy with freckles, stepped forward, "I ran!" he rasped through a cut throat, "but not very fast…"

Sandor woke suddenly, a cold sweat covering him. He sat up and looked around, a cool wind blew and he felt himself shiver slightly. The sun was beginning to rise in the East. He swore under his breath and wished for some wine, but as always there was none.

With a growl he forced himself to begin moving again, where he was going he wasn't entirely sure, he only knew he didn't have it in him to face Aragorn and the others. _Gondor is to the South,_ he thought, _Tywin Lannister is there, he might give me something to do, or perhaps he will hang me._ He sighed as the wind blew again, reminding him again that he was alone, and in that moment he decided he didn't care which option Tywin Lannister decided on.

He walked the rest of the day, occasionally stopping to sip water from the river or take a bit of bread from his small pack. On the far side of the river at one point he thought he saw movement, but after staring for some time and seeing no orcs or men he decided to continue on. _Let them take me,_ he thought angrily, _Here's as good a place to die as any._

As the sun began to set he saw the first change in scenery since he'd left Lothlorien, a series of brick and mortar structures overlooking what seemed to be another river crossing. _The South Undeeps,_ he thought. _We'd have come through here, probably rested in these ruins…_

Suddenly the hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he realized smoke was coming from the chimney of one of the structures, and as he craned his neck he heard voices. He drew his sword and crept closer, taking cover behind one of the buildings just as he heard the first of the footsteps coming towards him.

There was a yawn and then he heard a voice speaking in a low and evil sounding speech, followed by another in a higher pitched tone.

"Westron then!" the evil voice said in exasperation, "Do you Moria rats speak _that_?"

"I speak it," came the high pitched voice again, there was a shuffling of feet and Sandor guessed there had to be at least two or three of them.

"Good, then tell your friends that the next time they skip watch just because of a little sunlight they'll be spending their next shift in the cookpot!"

"Who are you to order us?" The high pitched voice asked, "We came out of Moria to get vengeance for our friends, not join your war."

" _All_ orcs have a duty to answer the Great Eye," the low voice growled, "And if you do not aid me now then I'll be sure to tell them about your rebellion back in Lugbúrz."

"Your captain Grisnakh must be a great chieftain in Mordor if he can threaten _that_ ," the high voice squeaked, "great enough to promise a reward for our service perhaps?"

"If we catch the halflings there will be rewards enough for everyone," the low voice said, "Stand watch. I'm going to go question the prisoner." He heard a pair of footsteps

 _Prisoner?_ _They're looking for halflings… what if it's Frodo or Sam?_ He was snapped out of his thoughts as a pair of light footsteps began approaching. He pivoted around the corner and saw a pair of small orcs, about waist high to him, squinting first at the fading sunlight before their eyes widened in shock. Before they could cry out he stabbed one through the throat and grabbed the other by the neck and slowly hoisted it up, watching it scrabble at his hands as it's legs kicked in the air. A moment later the movement stopped and he let the dead goblin fall to the ground.

He didn't see any of the other goblins outside, _the little ones don't care for the daylight,_ he thought, looking at the swiftly sinking sun, _I'll have to move quickly._

He heard a pained shout suddenly, "Quiet you!" the low voiced orc shouted from somewhere, "You'll eat what you're given!"

"It's rotten!" the pained voice protested, "It will burn our stomach!"

 _That's not Frodo or Sam,_ It was coming from the building with smoke billowing from the chimney. As he moved towards it he hesitated, _How many are in there?_ The pained scream came again, _Whoever that is they might not have much longer!_

He pulled the door open and stepped inside. There were six orcs inside, three were clustered around a pot in the fireplace, two others were playing some manner of dice game in a corner, and the final, a crooked legged creature with long arms hanging nearly to the ground, was sharpening a knife on a whetstone. The noise slowly died as the orcs caught sight of him, they stared at one another and then at him, wondering what to do.

He took a deep breath and shouted as loud as he could, flecks of spittle flying from his mouth as he ran forward. The orcs screeched back at him in terror, scrambling for their weapons as he cut through them. He was able to slay four of the creatures before the first one was able to draw a short curved blade on him, he blocked it quickly and brought his sword down in a forceful strike that overwhelmed the orc. He looked for the last one, seeing it sneering at him as it drew back a bowstring. With all of his might he raised his sword over his head and threw it, the point arcing across the room before slamming into the orc's chest and pinning it to the far wall.

He stood in the center of the room a moment, panting and admiring his handiwork. He walked to the far wall and pulled his sword free, wiping it on the dead orc's ragged shirt. He opened the thing's bag, hoping to find a wineskin or any food other than Lembas, but the pouch was full of maggoty bread.

A sudden wail from a back room reminded him of why he'd stormed the building in the first place. He held his sword in front of him as he slowly eased the door open, wary of any hidden orcs that might have escaped him. The room wasn't very large, more of a closet, or judging by the iron manacles chained to the walls a dungeon.

His eye followed the chain down to a pitiful half starved looking creature with massive eyes, "Who is he precious?" the thing muttered, "he killed the orcses…"

"You're the thing from the mine," Clegane said, holding the sword in front of him cautiously, "Gollum is it?"

"We didn't mean any harm!" it wailed, shuffling back against the wall, "we was just minding our business!"

"You've been spying on us," Clegane said. A sudden thought occurred to him, "Aragorn and Legolas barely caught you… how did this lot manage it?"

"T-They surprised us!" Gollum stammered.

"Liar!" Clegane shouted, grabbing Gollum by the throat and lifting him up, "The only way you could have been caught by these bastards is if _you_ came to _them!_ That's what you've been doing this entire time isn't it? You led them right to us at the crossing!"

The creature tried to say something but Sandor only tightened his grip, bringing his sword level with Gollum's eyes.

 _Frodo was right, it's a pity Bilbo didn't kill you when he had the chance…_ He grinned and slowly moved the blade lower, to Gollum's throat. Another voice entered his thoughts, _Many that live deserve death. And some die that deserve life. Can you give that to them?_

"I can give death to those that have earned it at least," He said defiantly.

 _The Hound can,_ Gandalf's voice came again.

He looked at Gollum a moment, the creature was choking, scrabbling against his hand trying to pry his throat loose. He loosened his grip a bit, causing Gollum to cough as he sucked in air.

"If you will kill us _kill_ us!" the creature spat, "kill us and be done with it!"

He breathed out slowly, "Another time maybe." He dropped Gollum to the floor and turned to leave.

"Wait!" Gollum shouted, though his voice was still raspy as he rubbed his sore neck, "You cannot leave us like this! More orcs will come and they will _eat_ us!" He stopped and slowly turned around, causing Gollum to shrink back in fear.

 _If I leave him he'll tell the first orc he sees I was here,_ "Back away from the wall," he said reluctantly. As Gollum scurried away he examined where the chain met the wall, as he'd expected it was rusted, he gave it a tug and it wiggled slightly. He grasped it with both hands and tugged on it with a grunt, though a creature like Gollum would never have budged it before his strength the chain ripped free of the crumbling stone.

"Free!" Gollum exclaimed, leaping about excitedly.

"You go your way and I'll go mine," Clegane growled as he began to leave.

"Looking for your hobbitses?" Gollum said in a low voice, "Going to Mordor they are… he is big precious, strong too, no orcses could stand up to him… but does he know the way?"

"Maybe I'm looking for them," he said slowly, "And maybe I'm not."

"If he was looking for the hobbitses precious we could find them," Gollum said, never making eye contact, "He could fight the orcs… and we could track the hobbits."

Clegane thought it over a moment, _He will go after them with or without me, there is still time to kill him…_ A part of him feared to be near the ring again, but another part of him yearned to find Sam and Frodo, to see them safe. He grabbed the chain, it was still locked around Gollum's ankle.

"Why do you want to find them?" He asked.

"The Precious!" Gollum said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, "We must find the Precious!"

"He won't give it to you," Clegane said quietly, "and I won't let you take it."

"Then… we will serve the master of the Precious," Gollum said slowly, "we are _nothing_ without it!"

"Do as I say and do not test me," Clegane said, pulling the chain and leading Gollum out of the building, "I still wouldn't mind gutting you like a fish, but if you behave we won't have problems."

"We could be nice to him if he is nice to us…" Gollum said uncertainly, "What is the man's name?"

"Clegane," he replied as the two of them stepped outside into the sunset, "Sandor Clegane."

"And what does Sandor Clegane want with the precious?" Gollum asked, tracing his finger along the length of the chain, "what will Sandor Clegane do when we find the Hobbitses?"

He didn't respond, he didn't know himself.

 **A/N: Clegane and Saruman are back!**

 **Jackalope89 - Aragorn is very well acquainted with the whole "anonymous hero" thing from his time as "Thorongil"**

 **Silverscripter - There's going to be a sort of "reverse" Helm's Deep at Isengard**

 **Seanbob1 - Eowyn's army right now is probably around 6-7 thousand**

 **Lilabennet - Eowyn is very much the glory hound, and when you strip away the "warrior princess" thing what Eomer has really just done is asked a hot blooded 23 year old warrior to step off the battlefield, Eowyn might not be making the most rationale decisions.**

 **Guest - Eh, maybe, the Targaryens seem to be a real tossup on stability. You don't get inter-kingdom strife as often, but when you do it involves dragons and inbreeding madness.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Jaime vs. Aragorn is a debate that will probably never end, I would lean towards Aragorn myself just because Westeros is a bit more grounded in reality than Middle Earth is and Aragorn's borderline superhuman, but it would be a fight Aragorn would never forget.**

 **ATP - I'm leaning more towards the film version of Uruk-Hai creation, they're created by magic out of the ground and can be mass produced by the likes of Saruman.**

 **Ceies - Part of what makes LOTR and ASOIAF so great is the constant references to the world and its lore, what would a crossover be without that?**

 **JJAndrews - I'm never sure what to think when someone reads six months of story in a few days, but I'm glad you enjoyed it!**


	115. CIX The Imp

**CIX**

 **The Imp**

"Wake up!" someone overhead shouted, but Tyrion ignored them and rolled over, groaning.

 _My head…_ he thought, _what in god's name did I drink last night? I haven't had a hangover this bad in years._

"He's not getting back up," growled a low voice, "We should search him, inside and out, and then leave what's left for the buzzards."

At that Tyrion opened his eyes, taking in a number of large orcs looking down at him as he lay on the ground, along with one friendlier face, a young blond man. As he groaned and sat up he saw that the face didn't belong to a man at all, but what he recognized from Daven's descriptions as a hobbit.

"Don't bother trying to run," The orc said, "your leg's broken." Tyrion shifted and winced in pain as he realized the orc was right, "Hold still and we'll splint it." He gestured to another pair of Uruks who moved forward with some cut tree branches and began setting the bone.

Tyrion gritted his teeth, "Why are you doing this?" He asked, trying not to cry out as the orcs worked.

The lead orc chuckled, "Isn't it rude to question a good turn? We're taking you alive, we know one of you halflings has something the Wise One wants."

"Well," began the hobbit, "I don't think he's really a-"

"AHHH!" he cried out in false pain as he grasped his leg, cutting off the hobbit before he could finish. He shot the other prisoner a glare that seemed to get the message across, _keep quiet you fool!_

"The leg still hurting you?" The orc leader asked. He pulled a bottle of something from his belt and uncorked it, bending down to bring it to Tyrion's lips. It had a foul odor, and Tyrion tried to turn away a moment before the orc pinched his nostrils shut until he gasped, forcing the bottle down his throat. It had a rancid burning flavor… but also a familiar warmness. He swished some of it around in his mouth a moment, at first it had tasted like rotting meat, but now a lemon flavor was coming through…

He swallowed, "It's actually not bad… it's no Arbor Summerwine, but I could stand to have some more."

"He likes it!" one of the orcs laughed, "He can have my ration!"

"Everyone will drink their orc draught or else meat's back on the menu!" the leader shouted. He looked down at Tyrion, "I am Ugluk, captain of the White Hand. You halflings are my prisoners. Behave well and be treated well, behave poorly and be treated poorly, it matters little to me, you will be brought to Isengard either way."

Suddenly a stunted winged creature fluttered down from somewhere overhead, "Captain!" it began, "the enemy is preparing to move again!"

Ugluk groaned angrily, "They followed us just as far as we ran, their horses are as tired as we are, we'll take a few extra minutes for a breather." At that there was a sigh of relief as the remaining orcs sat on whatever rocks and tree stumps were nearby.

Tyrion looked around as he felt the warmness of the orc-draught rising within him. Like wine and spirits his pain was dulled by the mixture, but rather than dulling his senses and relaxing him he felt more alert, more anxious.

"Hey!" the other captive said suddenly, he jerked his head towards the sound of the voice, "You're not from the shire are you?"

After looking to make sure none of their captors were listening in he responded, "No, my name is Tyrion Lannister, I come from the Westerlands."

"So you're just a very small man then?" The hobbit asked curiously.

Tyrion sighed, "Yes, just a very small man, but if these orcs think they've captured the wrong "halflings" then they'll turn around and try to capture the _right_ halflings."

The hobbit seemed to think it over a minute before nodding, "So we'll play the part then… I'm Pippin by the way, Preregrin Took actually, but Pippin to friends."

"Friends we'll be then. Call me Tyrion," he muttered as his eyes darted back and forth, studying the orcs. He forced himself to slow down and took a deep breath, _what in the seven hells is in that orc draught?_

"You're from Clegane's country aren't you?" Pippin asked eagerly, "and a Lannister no less!" He paused and leaned in close, "Is your army coming to rescue us?"

"I'm sure someone is, but I doubt we'll be lucky enough to warrant an entire army," He replied, rubbing his leg as the pain faded. He felt strange, whatever was in the drink brought the same light and wondrous feeling as wine and spirits, but rather than going slower his thoughts seemed to be moving faster, and rather than stupor he felt a certain tense readiness. "How did Sandor Clegane end up with you anyway?"

"He's been looking out for us since we left the Shire," Pippin explained, seeing Tyrion's blank look he continued, "After Ser Daven took Joffrey away Clegane stayed and became a Shirriff!"

"That sounds very different from the man I know," Tyrion said quietly. _It seems Jaime and I weren't the only ones having adventures…_

A flying orc flew down out of the sky, landing in front of Ugluk. There was a short guttural exchange between the two before the orc captain shouted a number of orders and walked back to them.

"Right," He began, snarling down at them, "You!" he pointed to Tyrion, "I'm carrying you over my back, don't fidget." He pointed to Pippin, "You're going to run until you can't anymore, and then Snarls here," he jerked his thumb back at another Uruk-Hai with disturbingly large teeth, "He'll carry you after that."

"And what if I won't run?" Pippin asked defiantly.

"You see Ugluk?" Snarls said in a lisping voice, "He don't need his legs! I've got a bag of meat seasoning back in my pack and-"

"I'll run!" Pippin said quickly, "E-Exercise!" He stammered as the orc grinned, "Very good for the heart I hear!"

As Tyrion was slung across Ugluk's back he took a moment to observe the camp. The orcs were tossing away most of their armor and supplies, keeping only their swords and a few packs of provisions. _They're running,_ he realized, and a moment later he saw why. Perhaps a mile behind them the first of Daven's riders was visible, silhouetted against the horizon. _They'll have trouble catching this lot, even following them this far brought the horses to the point of exhaustion, and I doubt Ugluk much cares if a few of his followers drop dead._

He began to study the group, they seemed like a disciplined bunch, and they all followed Ugluk's orders without question. It reminded him more of a unit of the Redcloaks rather than the orcs he'd seen in Mordor. _They are still orcs though… and soldiers to boot._

"Ser Ugluk!" He shouted as they came over a slight hill, "I have a question!"

"Time…" the orc panted, "For running, not for… speaking."

"It will only take a moment," he made sure his voice was loud enough now that it was carrying through the troupe of orcs, "There was a man at the battle, he was the most feared knight in all of the Westerlands, a true colossus of combat, I simply wish to know which of you was strong enough to kill him?"

"I met him in combat and ripped his throat out!" One of the orcs near the back shouted, his gait stumbling a moment as he held his sword high and ushered a guttural roar.

"It wasn't you!" Another orc said, jogging to Ugluk's side, "I killed the man! I took the banner of Mordor from him and snapped it over my knee!"

"He wasn't fighting for Mordor you fool!" Ugluk shouted, exasperation and exhaustion evident in his voice, "He wouldn't have one of their banners!"

"One man slew two of our brothers before I bit his throat open!" Snarler rasped, stooping to pick up Pippin who was now beginning to lag behind, "He was surely the great warrior!"

"Enough!" Ugluk shouted, "No more talking about this! Focus on running!"

They continued like this for a few hours, every now and then a few orcs would run close to one another and say something. Tyrion smiled to himself, _They'll spend all day talking about who killed the Westerlands' greatest knight._

They managed to stay just ahead of Daven's band, and Ugluk declared that they would stop for a few hours before running through the night. Tyrion and Pippin were tied together, back to back, as the orcs built a fire and roasted some meat that smelled like some sort of pork.

"Do you think they'll give us any?" Pippin asked eagerly.

"They were going to chop off your legs and eat them," Tyrion replied, "Do you really want to eat any meat they give you?"

Pippin thought it over even as his stomach growled, "Bread or cheese maybe? How could they ruin those?"

Tyrion rolled his eyes, but then noticed a small group of five or six orcs coming over to them, "Pippin," he said suddenly, "Whatever I say to them, play along." The hobbit noticed the approaching orcs and nodded.

"Halfling," Growled the lead orc, "What was the name of this great warrior that was slain in the battle of the Undeeps?"

"Ser Duncan the Tall," he said, thinking quickly, "He once fought a thousand duels in a single night, stopping only to joust with the terrible Night's King."

The orcs murmured amongst themselves, clearly impressed, "And you say one of us killed him?" The first orc asked excitedly, "Did you see the face of the Uruk who defeated Ser Duncan?"

"No I'm afraid not, but I do know it wasn't Ugluk, he was trying to capture us the entire battle."

"It's true!" Pippin cut in, "I saw Ser Duncan before he fell and he wasn't anywhere near Ugluk!"

"What did he look like?" The orc asked.

"Blond," Tyrion said, seeing the orc's confusion he sighed, "Tall, with hair the color of straw." _That could describe half the men of Rohan, that should get a few of them thinking…_

"I killed a tall man with straw-hair," One of the orcs growled excitedly, "Tell Ser Duncan's widow and children that he was felled by Shug the bone-cutter!"

Tyrion smiled internally, but kept his face sorrowful, "Curse your name Shug the Bone-Cutter!" He snarled, putting as much anger into his voice as he could muster.

"You monster!" Pippin wimpered, "May you rot in the seven hells!"

The orcs laughed and walked away, several of them slapped "Shug the Bone-Cutter" on the back, congratulating him for his alleged kill.

"The traditional curse is that you hope one _burns_ in the Seven Hells," he said as soon as the orcs were out of earshot again.

"Well the only person I ever hear say it is Clegane," Pippin said defensively, "I don't think there _was_ a Ser Duncan, what are you planning?"

"There was a Ser Duncan, but he died before either of us were born." Tyrion replied, "Among men like this, and orcs too I believe, stories tend to take on a life of their own. By tomorrow Shug the Bone-Cutter will be talking about how he defeated Ser Duncan the Tall in a duel that turned the tide of battle and sent our forces into a route, more importantly he'll begin to wonder why Ugluk, who only captured a pair of halflings, gets to bark orders at the one who killed Ser Duncan, and a few of his friends will begin to wonder it too."

Pippin took a moment to take it all in, "You don't really think you can get them to fight by saying a few words do you?"

Tyrion shrugged, "Maybe, maybe not. I've seen enough fighters to know that Ugluk is going to go through Shug like wet paper the moment he speaks out of turn, but maybe some of their friends will step in too and we'll have ourselves a few minutes where we might accomplish anything."

"Escape?" Pippin breathed excitedly, "But you won't be able to follow me with your leg like that… won't they punish you?"

"Ugluk can hurt me, but he can't break me," Tyrion said, "He won't risk having to return to Saruman empty handed."

"Lord Lannister you are exactly as Ser Clegane said you would be," Pippin said suddenly.

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, "Clever?"

"Scheming was the word he used," Pippin replied.

They camped for a few hours, and Tyrion managed to get some rough sleep before a garbled scream woke him up. He blinked a few times to see an Uruk twitching on the ground, a white foam collecting around its mouth. For a moment, he thought the Rohirrim were attacking, but rather than rushing to fight, the Uruk-Hai were shaking their heads angrily and gathering their things.

"Too much draught," Ugluk said as he cut their bonds and scooped Tyrion up again.

They began moving again at a pace that Tyrion doubted any mannish army could match. Even with horses he knew Daven would be hard pressed to catch them. Things began to grow monotonous, as always there was little to occupy the eye in Rohan's vast plains, and the only excitement was the occasional sighting of a pursuer. Once he was sure it was Daven himself, the distant rider with red armor and a long blond beard could hardly have been anyone else.

 _So Daven survived at least,_ he thought, _the rest are probably dead… Crakehall and Shagga went down early, and Bronn was cut down by the Nazgul._ He tried to blink back a sudden tear. _They were only sellswords and men-at-arms,_ he told himself, but as much as he tried to be his father's son he felt sorrow coming through. The three men had been with him since the beginning, and a part of him had begun to think of them as almost invincible, together they'd escaped Sauron's clutches, freed Rohan, and even protected the One Ring itself. _All men must serve,_ he thought, _and serve they did. And all men must die…_ A short, almost mad chuckle escaped his lips, _I suppose I'm going to die too, Saruman the White won't get his hobbit, just a twisted little man._ His brow fur.

Another thought struck him suddenly, _Did Cersei survive?_ It was an odd thing to be worrying after Cersei's welfare, but she had risked her life to save his, and it had been her bravery and cleverness that had defeated the Nazgul when his own had failed. _No more chance encounters,_ he thought for perhaps the millionth time.

After another day of running and brief rests they came into view of a large forest that Tyrion realized had to be Fangorn. Something about it made him uneasy, rather than sparsely grouped trees gradually building into a forest it was as though Fangorn had a border. The trees grew thick on a seemingly predetermined line cutting through the plains. The orcs stopped to rest again on the edge of the treeline, all of them being careful not to cross into the shadow of the trees.

"We should cut through the forest!" Shug shouted, a number of orcs nodding around him, "The horses can't follow us through there!"

"We are not to enter Fangorn Forest," Ugluk shouted back, "It's a haunted place!"

"Our fearless leader Ugluk is scared of a few trees?" Shug asked with a toothy grin, "But then he's scared of the riders too isn't he?" a few of the orcs laughed, but a grim expression came over Ugluk's face. Tyrion felt the tension in the air beginning to build.

"I do not tolerate insubordination," Ugluk said, drawing his sword, "If you bend your knee and apologize now you will only lose an ear."

Shug just laughed and drew his own sword, "Do you think you scare me Ugluk the unnamed? I slew Ser Duncan the Tall while you were chasing halfings!"

"Ser Duncan the tall?" Ugluk asked, unimpressed. For a moment his gaze drifted to Tyrion and they made eye contact, _he knows this is my fault somehow._

"Pippin," he whispered, "Start looking for a way out of your bindings, a sharp rock maybe-"

"No need," Pippin said, "I got loose half an hour ago, what's left of the knots is only there for show!"

"Get ready then," he muttered as Ugluk approached Shug.

"We are Uruk-Hai," Ugluk roared, "We fight not for ourselves, but for something greater. Feuding over petty glories and rank is for low-blooded Mordor filth!"

"Well look at Ugluk high-and-mighty!" Shug sneered, "He's eaten so much manflesh from the Master's hand that he thinks he's a man himself!" As he said it some orcs around him began to cheer, Ugluk's frown only deepened, and his eyes narrowed in a way that reminded Tyrion of his father.

"If you think yourself so strong then strike me down and assume command," Ugluk said in a low voice.

Shug's smile seemed to fade, replaced by an expression that showed he clearly realized he'd overstepped. Still, he reached for the blade at his side and drew it, those who seemed to be his followers hesitantly did as well.

"Ugluk," Shug said suddenly, "Take the ear, I-"

Ugluk's blade sliced through his neck, spraying the orc captain with blood and viscera, "Kill them!" Ugluk shouted, pointing at the group that had drawn their blades with Shug. The Uruk-Hai roared and rushed at the traitors, steel ringing and limbs flying as they were cut.

Tyrion turned to Pippin to tell him to run, but he was already gone, only the faintest rustling of leaves on the treeline marking his departure.

The skirmish didn't last long, only half a dozen Uruks at most had sided with, and they were quickly cut down, but it was long enough for Pippin to slip away.

Ugluk was the first to run to him when the fighting was done, "Where is he?" Ugluk breathed angrily, "Where's the other one!?"

"Pippin went on a short walk to stretch his legs," Tyrion said, a smug expression on his face. It was wiped away by the impact of Ugluk's fist impacting against his cheek. He shook his head a moment, spitting out blood but thankfully no teeth, "I would have joined him except that I'm just so _tired,_ you see-"

Ugluk punched him again, harder this time, he felt his nose break, "I must thank you halfling," Ugluk said, cracking his knuckles, "You've not only helped rid me of my more foolish companions, you've put meat back on the table!" Another blow landed in Tyrion's gut, knocking the wind out of him.

"Y-You can't kill me!" Tyrion rasped.

"No," Ugluk agreed, "but I can make you wish you were dead." He looked to the forest a minute, "We're going into the forest!" he announced, "The other one can't have gotten far!" Ugluk lifted Tyrion up roughly, "Once your business with the Wizard is done I think I'll ask for you." He slung the imp across his back and with a roar charged into the forest after his companions.

 _Valar Morghulis,_ Tyrion thought to himself as they passed into the haunted forest.

 **A/N: I hope everyone's having a good 4th of July weekend**

 **Jackalope89 - Saruman's not going to be happy, but sometimes when you screw over everyone you yourself get screwed over in the process, that's life.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Jaime tends to wear heavier armor than Aragorn does, but I don't know how much good that does when you factor in all the magic swords floating around in both stories.**

 **.89 - I considered just letting the Frodo and Sam story happen as in canon, but I decided that was a bit of a cop out.**

 **Deadblow13 - floating gasbag style orcs would be pretty difficult to do in a serious light, there's already a lot of flying monkey jokes regarding Saruman's flying orcs and I don't know if I have it in me to write a chapter about Qyburn making floating gas orcs without making a fart joke.**


	116. CX The Queen

**CX**

 **The Queen**

Cersei watched as the Sept of Baelor burned green, _Kevan is there,_ a part of her thought in a panic as the flames spread, _The sept! It's going to-_

 _Good,_ it was her voice, but it wasn't her, _Burn them all!_ It cried as the flames blossomed and exploded outward.

Suddenly she found herself face to face with the source of the voice, she wore a black dress, with silver shoulders and a chain draped across her breasts. Her eyes glinted green, matching the faraway flames of the wildfire.

She woke with a start, they had kept the kingsfoil tea boiling, even reheating the water and stirring the dregs of the leaf the day after the others had departed. As they had been warned by Aragorn they had each suffered strange and terrible dreams that night, the Nazgul's parting gift.

Digging Kevan's grave was a slow business, the spade they'd been left was a short thing fit more for gardening than gravedigging, and only her and Shagga the Stone Crow were fit to do work. It was her turn to dig now, and she was quickly discovering that whatever lessons she might have learned from her journey they did not make up for decades of soft living, her arms ached even as she lifted another shovelful of earth.

"Lady Cersei," a deep voice called from the edge of the small pit. She looked up to see Lyle Crakehall, flexing his arm a moment, "The feeling in my arm is mostly back, I think a little work would do it good." She handed him the spade and stepped up out of the hole, rubbing her arm. "Ser Kevan was a true knight," Crakehall said as he pushed the shovel into ground, "He'll live on in legend."

 _As true as any knight of Tywin Lannister could ever be,_ she thought as she stared at Kevan's covered form, _but true enough when it mattered most._ She felt a muted sense of sadness and walked back towards the camp.

Shagga and Bronn were sitting by the fire, talking in low voices, "Shagga saw his camp burning," the clansman said in a near whisper, "felt the flames…"

She sat next to where Faramir was laid out, a small pile of rags propping his head up slightly. His face was pale, and he was still weak, but he managed a slight nod acknowledging her.

"How goes the work?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"Well enough," she replied, "but I can dig no more, Ser Crakehall took the shovel."

"I'm sorry I can't be more help," Faramir said, he tried to sit up but grimaced in pain and leaned back down.

Bronn rolled his eyes and began slicing an apple with a knife that looked entirely too large for the task, "Don't bother, you'll only rip your wounds open. You're not going to be ready to move on your own for at least a week, and you won't be ready for digging or fighting for at least another two."

"And you Bronn?" Faramir asked, "How is your wound?"

Bronn scowled and lifted his sleeve, revealing a cut on his upper arm that had scabbed over a deep black. It seemed as though the skin around the wound was pale, and it was repulsive to look at, "I can feel it, like a bit of ice pressed against my arm." He flexed the muscle, "It doesn't hurt much, but it still feels _wrong._ " He sighed and rolled the sleeve down, "All the gold in the world isn't worth fighting these things."

"No choice now," Shagga grunted, lifting another small log and tossing it onto the fire.

Cersei frowned, "What do you mean by that?"

"There's something bigger going on," Shagga said, "Bigger than us, the halfman knew."

"And look where that got him," Bronn muttered, "Seven hells, look at where it got us!"

"We're alive aren't we?" Faramir asked quietly.

"Barely," Bronn retorted, "But I'm done with this madness, when we get back to Edoras I've half a mind to get myself a horse and go as far west as west goes."

"It won't do you any good if we lose," Faramir said, "where do you think you can go that Sauron will not reach?" Bronn was silent at that, and sullenly continued cutting the apple.

Between the three mostly able-bodied men they finished the grave later that afternoon. Crakehall and Shagga slowly lowered Kevan into it as she watched, fighting back tears. Faramir had managed to sit up, and was watching from the campsite.

"Do you want to say anything before we fill it in?" Crakehall asked, leaning slightly on the shovel.

 _He shouldn't be buried here,_ she thought, _he should be carried to the hall of heroes and honored before the whole of the Westerlands…_ Seeing them staring at her she sighed.

"He was far kinder to me than I deserved," she began, "and he was there for me when I needed him…" she paused, unsure of what else to say.

"A fine warrior," Crakehall cut in, his deep voice startling her, "He fought in the War of the Ninepenny Kings, and cleared the Westerlands of all bandits… his sword and spirit will be missed." Seeing her look he shifted uncomfortably, "We can't do this right, not in the middle of nowhere with just the five of us, but he was a knight, and when you lay a knight to rest you must list some of what he has done."

Cersei nodded, understanding, "I fought with him at Osgiliath, when the Witch King himself brought the wrath of the enemy down upon us. Together we journeyed across Gondor and Rohan to the Golden Wood and still further until he fell."

The memories were beginning to get to her now, and a single tear traced its way down her cheek. Crakehall handed her the shovel and she lifted the first of the earth and tossed it into the grave.

"Ser Crakehall," Shagga said suddenly, "We should gather stones to build a cairn for him, there are many down by the river." Crakehall turned to follow him but paused, looking to Cersei for approval.

"Do it," She said as she poured another shovelful of earth into the hole, "When the war is over my father will send someone here to recover his brother's bones and return them to Casterly Rock, we'll need to mark his grave for them somehow."

It didn't take nearly as long to fill the grave as it had taken to dig it, and by the time the sun was setting Kevan had been buried and the first of a set of stones had been piled atop his resting place. The five of them rested around the campfire at the end of the day, saying little to one another. Shagga had roasted them a rabbit he'd killed with a small sling, but it was a tough and gamey thing, and she didn't care for the spices the clansman had used to season it.

The next day they woke to a cold wind blowing beneath a flat grey sky. She shivered as a chilly gust ruffled through her hair. _It seems a season has hardly arrived in Middle Earth before it is gone again,_ she thought to herself.

Shagga and Crakehall continued working on the Cairn while she, Faramir, and Bronn tended the fire. After a few hours Bronn declared that his arm was feeling better enough now that he could use a bow, and that he would try to hunt down some better game than the scrawny rabbit that Shagga had taken the night before.

She shivered as the cold wind rushed by her again, and looked up at the clouds, wondering if it would rain. The thought caused her to glance at Faramir a moment, _being cold and wet is bad enough for a well body, it can't be good for a wounded one._

As if reading her mind Faramir smiled, "Fear not Lady Cersei, I am nearly recovered and I am merely pretending to be ill to avoid a return to work and duty."

She laughed, it felt good after the sorrow of the past few days, "You are a poor liar Faramir," she said, "If it were possible you would have dug the grave yourself and then said something disgustingly noble about continuing to do your duty even in the face of adversity."

He managed a slight shrug, "Perhaps I'm such a good liar that you have misjudged my entire nature? What if I am a layabout who has merely cultivated a reputation as a dutiful and capable captain?"

"I think not," she replied, "I've seen many such men in Westeros and you are not one of them, when it comes to bragging and lies the men of Gondor are rank amateurs."

Faramir's grin faded, "Clegane often said such things, yet the Westerosi I have met seem brave and honorable."

A strange sense of embarrassment filled Cersei, and she looked away a moment, "You have only seen the better part of us," she said finally.

"Clegane voiced similar sentiments," Faramir said, "he's a man who has done terrible things to be sure, but in this darkest hour it seems he has found something in himself that he long believed dead, or perhaps something he'd forgotten entirely."

"If he is such a brave and true warrior where is he?" Cersei asked, more of an edge to her voice than she'd intended.

Faramir sighed, "I do not know, but wherever he is I think he is trying to decide what sort of man he will be. I wish I were with him, if only to help him make the right choice. Perhaps he will find his way south to Gondor and we will meet him there."

"We will have enough to say to our fathers without having to explain him," Cersei replied.

"Indeed we will," Faramir said, frowning, "My father has always distrusted Gandalf, and with us bringing news of the true king all of his worst fears will have come true. The Wizard has conspired to steal his power and turned his own son against him…" He grinned, "Though if I am to be disowned as you are we are truly free to do as we wish aren't we?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Our engagement," Faramir explained.

She rolled her eyes, "If you still feel bound to the vows you made to me in Minas Tirith then consider yourself released from them, your honor intact."

"Then perhaps I should make them again," he replied.

 _That_ surprised her, "Faramir," she began slowly, "Are you saying that you _still_ wish to marry me?"

He seemed uncertain a moment, "When we first met I did not," he admitted, "You were a fair and beautiful woman, but you seemed haughty and overly proud."

She felt a mixture of embarrassment and a little anger, though a part of her knew he was right, "Be careful with your words," she said, "I am not so humbled that I will be wooed by a list of my faults."

Faramir shrugged, "If you wish I could tell you pleasant lies, but you would learn nothing of how I feel."

"Continue then," she said, crossing her arms.

He nodded, "In Lothlorien you seemed different-"

"Many things happened after you left," Cersei said quietly, "Difficult things, though in hindsight I cannot say I regret the journey."

"You have found courage at the very least," Faramir said, "that much was clear when you stood against one of the Nine, a feat few can boast." He paused a moment, "The shadow hangs over us, we have both felt it, and I think we are meant to face it together. Why else would fate bring us together again? And at such a crucial time?" He paused, looking to her for a reaction.

She felt sadness in her heart as she stared at him, _He sees me as something far better than I am._

She sighed a moment and looked away, "I will face the shadow with you, but I do not think we should be married."

Now he seemed taken aback, "Have my words not swayed you? Do you love another?"

Jaime's face briefly flashed through her mind, but whatever warmth had once been there was gone, "No," she said bitterly, "I do not love another."

"What gives you pause then?" He asked, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

"I…" she searched for the right words, "It is not only Clegane who has done terrible things in the past," she said finally. _Do not make me speak of them,_ she pleaded inwardly, she could not bear the thought of Faramir knowing of her crimes.

Thankfully Ser Crakehall and Shagga began walking back towards them, "The cairn is complete," Ser Lyle rumbled.

Faramir shot her a look, "We will discuss this later," he said.

Bronn returned a short time later with a small furry creature he'd caught near the river, sparking an intense debate among the men over whether it was safe to eat.

"It's some manner of rat," Crakehall exclaimed, poking the carcass, "throw it back in the river!"

"It looks more like a beaver," Shagga opined, "It will make a fine stew."

"That's no beaver's tail you savage," Crakehall muttered.

"Well I don't care what it is," Bronn said, "I'm eating meat tonight."

Crakehall looked around a moment, his eyes landing on Cersei, "My lady!" he exclaimed, "These fools think that it's acceptable to serve a daughter of Tywin Lannister rat meat!"

She felt her spirits lift a bit seeing Ser Crakehall's desperate expression, "I shall suffer on Lembas bread alone tonight if the thought offends you Ser Lyle," she said, fighting back laughter. In truth she recognized the creature and was certain that Kevan had already cooked her one at some point on the road to Lothlorien.

"Perhaps Ser Crakehall should try it first," Faramir said, realizing the game she was playing, "That way we will know for sure if it is safe to eat!"

In the end Crakehall did end up trying the first spoonful of stew, if only to stop the other men from taunting him. It was a surprisingly warm and filling dish, and between that and the lembas Cersei went to bed feeling full and had her first pleasant night's sleep since the encounter with the Nazgul.

The next day was even colder, and a light mist was raining down, soaking the ground. It wasn't long before they retired to their tents, trying to stay dry. Cersei was sighing with boredom and listening to the rain patter against the fabric when the flap of her tent opened.

"May I enter?" Faramir asked, his legs unsteady.

She felt an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach, "Come in then," she said, "before you catch your death out there." He slowly eased his way in, water dripping from his hair, and collapsed across from her in the small space.

"You know what I want to talk about," he began, a statement, not a question.

She sighed and nodded, "You wish to ask again why I will not marry you."

"You have committed some sin which you think I cannot forgive or overlook," he said quietly.

"Yes," she admitted. _Stop there, please…_

She was not so lucky, "Cersei," he began, "My mind will never be at peace if this remains a mystery to me, nor, I think, will yours."

"Promise you will not hate me," she said suddenly, "Promise me that you will not force me away."

He leaned back and sighed, "I did not lie when I said I believe we are meant to face these troubled times together. Speak the truth Cersei Lannister and I swear that I will at least remain your friend." That comforted her a little, and she felt her initial fears subside.

She breathed in and out slowly, steadying herself before speaking. She began at the beginning, when she and Melara Heatherspoon had heard Maggy's prophecy, and of Melara's "fall" into the well.

"I thought if no one knew of the prophecy it could not come true, that if it were not spoken it would fade away," she said quietly.

"Do you believe it still follows you?" Faramir asked, his expression grim.

"No," she replied, "The Lady Galadriel told me that in this world at least my fate is my own to choose, and I believe her…" she sighed, "Melara was the first person I ever killed, but she would not be the last… My late husband, Robert Baratheon was another."

Faramir frowned, "Your brother Tyrion said he died in a hunting accident, gored by a boar."

"It was no accident," she said, turning her eyes away, "I arranged for him to be given strongwine, I knew he would not notice it… he died by my hand."

"Did you love him?" Faramir asked suddenly, "did he love you?" his tone was pleading, as though he were searching for anything that might mitigate the disgust she could hear in his voice.

"No," she said bitterly, "we were the worst of enemies." _There is one thing left to be said,_ she thought miserably, "The only man I ever loved was Jaime, the father of my children."

"By the Valar…" Faramir whispered, his face pale as comprehension struck him.

"Y-You promised you would not hate me," she sniffed, blinking.

They sat there for a few minutes, the pattering of the rain against the tent filling the silence. Several times Faramir opened his mouth as if to say something before closing it again and staring off into space.

 _Say something,_ she thought desperately, _anything!_ The quiet was maddening, and she did not know how much more she could bear.

"I do not hate you," he said finally.

She leaned across the tent and embraced him, she felt his arms reach around her back and pull her close. The silence returned, but this time it was welcome, pleasant even.

"What will we do now?" she asked quietly.

They separated and Faramir smiled, "When we left Rivendell our guide said that we should not plan too far ahead, let us fall back on that advice now. We will plan only to go forward."

She sighed, and nodded, "Forward then." Idly she noticed the rain had stopped, and a bit of light poked through the weaving of the tent. She felt exhausted suddenly, as though she done far more than just sit in a tent and talk, "I'm going to get some water from the river," she said, beginning to stand up.

"Go in peace then," Faramir said, nodding.

As she left the tent she saw that Bronn was outside as well, "Lady Cersei," he said nodding at her, "Is Faramir in there?" he gestured towards the tent.

"Yes," she said, suddenly defensive, "We weren't-"

"I wouldn't care if you were," Bronn said with a shrug. He grinned suddenly, "Ask Faramir about his first night at the Golden Tooth when you have the time."

She frowned, "I'll be sure to do that."

The river was higher than normal, and the banks were muddier. She steadied herself as she sidled down the bank, though she had grown used to the feeling of dirt and grime on the road she had no desire to land herself face first in the mud.

She was walking back towards the camp when she heard the gallop of horses. She looked around wildly, half fearing she would see an approaching column of riders out of the East, but she spotted only two horses, one black and one white, approaching from the North.

As they drew closer she could see the white horse had a rider, clothed in white with a matching beard going down his front. The horses slowed until they were in front of her, and realized then how beautiful the lighter horse was, with a silver grey mane and dark eyes. The other horse was a jet black courser, its nostrils flaring as it trotted to a stop next to the silver horse and its rider. In a surprisingly smooth motion for his apparent age the white robed rider dismounted, leaning slightly on a large staff as he walked to her.

"Hello!" he said a kind smile on his face.

"Hello," she said cautiously, she suspected immediately that he was no ordinary old man. The staff was far too ornate for a mere walking stick, and his movements were far too smooth for a man as old as he appeared to be. There was a certain sense of majesty about him as well, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

 _A wizard,_ she realized, _clothed in white!_ Her blood ran cold. She knew of only two wizards, one had been a friend of Tyrion, Clegane, and Faramir, and he was dead. The other was named for his white robes… She realized suddenly that she was not wearing her sword belt. _What could Saruman be doing here?_

"It is good to see a friendly face in such a desolate country," the wizard said. He was almost upon her now. She screamed loudly and dropped the canteen.

"Faramir!" She shouted in panic, "Bronn!

She heads poking out of the tents, and not a second later all four men were running towards her, weapons drawn, though Faramir was lagging behind.

Bronn caught her, bringing her to a stop as Shagga and Crakehall closed ranks around her.

"It can't be…" Bronn muttered as the Wizard approached. Cersei's eyes widened as he sheathed his sword.

"It is!" Faramir gasped, dropping his own sword and hobbling forward, "Gandalf!"

"Faramir!" The wizard called out, laughing as the two embraced.

 _Gandalf!?_

Crakehall and Shagga were relaxing now, and Cersei stepped forward herself, "I-I must apologize…" she realized she didn't know what honorific to address a wizard with.

The wizard chuckled, "I take no offense my lady," he said waving his hand, "A stranger out of the wilderness in wartime is ample cause for alarm, I should have introduced myself." The wizard stared at her a moment, "You have the Lannister look about you, and you are in the company of Lannister men," he nodded towards Bronn, "might you be a Lannister?"

"Cersei Lannister," she replied, "daughter of Tywin Lannister."

"So I have met all of his children then," Gandalf said, nodding, "And pleased to have done so!"

"Clegane," she said suddenly, causing him to raise an eyebrow at the name, "he said you died…"

"I did," Gandalf said, causing a hush to come over them, "My spirit passed from this world, through fire and deep water..." A strange look came over his face, "I forgot many things I thought I knew, and relearned others I had forgotten. When you spoke the name Gandalf it was as an old memory, a nickname from childhood."

"This is impossible," Bronn said, "He can't have…"

"He did," Faramir said, "I saw Gandalf fall myself, but he has come back!"

"I was _sent_ back _,_ " Gandalf said in a reverent voice, "To finish this task." He turned to Faramir, "What news of the company Faramir? These four were not a part of our Fellowship, yet you are here with them rather than our companions."

"We were separated," Faramir explained, "come to our camp and I will tell you the tale while your mounts rest." He eyed the black horse a moment, "Is that…?

"Stranger?" Gandalf asked, "Yes, he came to me in the company of Shadowfax, perhaps he yearns to rejoin his master, or perhaps he has some other part to play, but he has followed us this far."

"You had best lead him to our camp," Faramir said, eyeing the horse uncertainly, "He never cared for me."

"Nor for most men," Gandalf said, "Come, let the horses see to themselves while you tell me what has become of the Fellowship."

They walked together towards the camp, and as the light of the sun grew stronger through the fading clouds Gandalf the White listened as they told him their stories.

 **A/N: I decided to include a brief reference to the season 6 finale, I thought it was pretty amazing and given Cersei's prominence in it and this chapter I thought it would fit.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - I think Narsil could easily cut through generic Lannister steel, I think it would probably be a good match for Valyrian steel though.**

 **Jackalope089 & Quelthias - Treebeard might find Tyrion a bit "hasty."**

 **Deadblow13 - Maybe for a joke chapter at some point.**

 **Madsloth - I think it's just the review answers and joke chapters, the main story is identical on both sites.**


	117. CXI The Kingslayer

**CXI  
The Kingslayer**

The Rohirrim had reacted with joy and celebration on the return of their captain, all but one anyway, and the good cheer had spread to the Lannister camp as well. This lead to the usual drinking and fighting, and though Jaime had not seen it himself he had heard that somewhere in the camp a tourney pitch has been hastily erected so the men could joust. Luckily things didn't get _too_ out of hand, though the army was well supplied with food, water, and other necessitiesthere was only so much wine to be had so far from home.

Jaime woke early the next day, it often seemed that his men could not so much as dig a latrine without his approval, and he was not surprised to see a number of men waiting near his command tent. Forlong was there of course, Jaime had often found his advice helpful when it came to the day to day management of a marching army, and sticking out among the other minor knights and lords was Halbarad, the Dunedain chieftain.

Jaime had been unsure what to make of the man. He traveled in the company of elves to start with, and though Elladan and Elrohir did not seem as otherworldly as the singer in Osgiliath had they were sill elves nonetheless, fair and graceful. A few knights had asked them if their ears were real, something the two elves found quite amusing.

 _I wonder how old they are,_ he'd thought one day, watching them laughing and singing with some of the poorer hedge knights, _they look and act like young men… but if these elves truly are immortal they could be older than the Targaryen dynasty, older than the Andal invasion…_ the thought discomforted him for some reason.

As for Halbarad and his men they were tall and grim, and though they were in the company of a massive host Jaime had noticed that they always set a few of their own as sentries. From what he'd gathered the Dunedain were men of the wilds who kept law and order in the sparse north, and it was a strange thing to have so many of them in one place like this, even in wartime.

"Prince Jaime," the cloaked captain said, stepping forward a moment, "I am afraid the time has come for the Grey Company to part with your army."

Forlong frowned, "You don't wish to march against Isengard?"

"All who serve the shadow are our enemies," Halbarad replied, "but our true errand is to find our kinsman, Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

"You are not sworn to me or my father," Jaime said slowly, "You are free to do as you see fit…" Halbarad was about to turn and leave before Jaime spoke again, "I have allowed you and your men to resupply out of my army's stores… in payment I'd like the answer to a question."

Halbarad's eyes narrowed a moment, "Fair is fair Jaime Lannister, ask your question and I will try to answer it."

"Who is Aragorn, son of Arathorn?" Jaime asked, "Why do elves seek him out?"

Halbarad regarded him a moment and sighed, "You are a prince and an ally…" he eyed Forlong, "The Southern lord, can he be trusted?"

Forlong crossed his arms and was about to say something but Jaime cut him off, "He's trustworthy," _he's kept my secrets, and I have no doubt that they are more terrible than yours._

"I must get something," Halbarad said suddenly, "Wait for me inside the tent and please wait alone."

Jaime raised an eyebrow and shot a glance at Forlong, who only shrugged, "Our kin to the north are a secretive folk," the big man said, stroking his beard, "Perhaps they've been living in the shadows too long…" He turned to enter the command tent and Jaime followed him.

A few minutes later Halbarad returned, Elladan and Elrohir at his side. He carried what seemed at first to be a large staff, but as he brought it into view Jaime saw that it was actually a cloth banner, tightly bound closed. With a flourish Halbarad undid the knots, causing the black standard to unfurl.

They gasped, upon the thick black cloth was the white tree of Gondor, woven in some strange material that shone brighter than silver. Above and about the tree were stars set in gemstones, seven in all, and higher still above all was a crown spun in gold.

"What is the meaning of this?" Forlong whispered, "I know these signs, there is no living lord who has a right to bear them!"

"You are mistaken Lord Forlong of Lossarnach," Elladan said in a low voice, "The heir of Isildur will soon declare himself." He turned to Jaime, "The King of Gondor has returned."

"The king of Gondor," Jaime mused, "And you search for this man? This Aragorn son of Arathorn?"

"Our sister Arwen, called the Evenstar, wove this banner for him," Elrohir said as he began to roll it up again, "They are in love, but as it was with Beren a great task has been set before Aragorn before he can take her hand in marriage."

Jaime sighed, "I mean no offense to your sister or her handiwork, it's quite impressive actually; the best I've ever seen, but to claim a throne requires more than a standard and an elven bride."

"He will come bearing other signs of his birthright," Elladan said with a small smile, "None will deny the truth of his claims."

"I don't know what to make of this," Jaime muttered.

"What to make of it?" Forlong exclaimed happily, "Glory to Gondor! That is what _I_ make of it!"

"For generations Sauron has relentlessly hunted the heirs of Isildur," Halbarad said quietly, "but I don't think we need to worry about that now. The days grow short and our hope must come soon or not at all."

Jaime was quiet a moment, _this is a matter for father, or at least for Tyrion…_ Forlong, Halbarad, and the elven brothers were looking at him expectantly.

"Go to Aragorn then," Jaime said finally, "I have been charged with removing the threat of Isengard, and that is what I will do," Forlong looked like he was about to say something but Jaime cut him off, "And that is what those sworn to aid me will do," _Lost king or no lost king you are staying with me old man._

"The fight here must be finished," Halbarad agreed, "I wouldn't ask you to leave it, and we will stand side by side soon enough I think."

"In Gondor," Jaime said quietly.

 _We will meet only once more, when the nations of men again call you Kingslayer…_ a small shiver ran down his spine.

Halbarad nodded, oblivious to Jaime's discomfort, "In Gondor," he repeated, "Before the walls of the white city itself." He collected himself a moment and bowed, "Farewell Jaime Lannister, until we meet again."

"Farewell," Jaime repeated as Halbarad and the elves left the tent.

"The Return of the King!" Forlong exclaimed as soon as they'd left, "Jaime we must send one of the ravens to Minas Tirith! The people must know!"

"No," Jaime said firmly, "I…" he sighed, "I don't know what we should do. What if this is a trick? What if he is a usurper? What if he is truly your lost king but he has no proof of his identity?"

"Elves are not so easily fooled," Forlong replied, "And the sons of Elrond himself bear the message."

Jaime considered it a moment, _elves might be above the petty games of men… but this is a matter of men and not elves._

"Let them bear it without us then," he said finally, seeing Forlong's disappointed expression he sighed, "We cannot allow ourselves to get caught up in this now, we have our own fight to finish here. I do not know if I should help this Aragorn or hinder him, so I will do neither until I can see him for myself."

"You are merely putting off the decision," Forlong grumbled.

"I am," Jaime admitted, "but I'd still like to see something of Aragorn before making it." He crossed his arms and smiled a little, "though I have rarely been impressed with kings."

"Kingslayer," Forlong said in a suddenly harsh tone, startling him, "That is _my_ king you speak of."

Jaime frowned, "I meant no offense." Forlong relaxed a bit, and Jaime quickly changed the subject, "We should see Eomer and the Rohirrim off, they're going to begin their ride up the riverbank soon."

The two of them left the tent and walked toward the fords where their camp ended, far beyond the Rohirrim he saw the thirty men of the Grey Company already marching east. They sloshed through the slow moving waters of the ford and made their way towards the Rohirrim, most of whom were already mounted or shouting orders to subordinates.

"Jaime!" Eomer called from the front of the column, beckoning them over. He was waiting beneath the large green banner the Westerlands lords had given him, the silver outlining the stallion reflecting brilliantly in the morning sun. As Jaime got closer he saw that Podrick Payne was holding it aloft, dressed in a set of Rohirrim armor that seemed to barely fit him. "We are nearly ready to leave, we will meet you again the crossing of the Wizard's Vale," Eomer said as he approached.

"I expect he will defend it more vigorously than the Fords," Jaime said, glancing upriver a moment, "We are agreed that you will not attack it without my army being in sight?"

Eomer chuckled, "I am no fool Jaime Lannister. I can fight, run, or fight running, as I need to."

Jaime returned the smile and nodded, "I know you are a well-tempered commander, but I worry that these young men" he gestured at Podrick, "might run off and do something foolish with Eomer the Stallion leading them."

Eomer rolled his eyes and sighed, Eomer the Stallion was a name he'd been given in a particularly lewd and ribald song telling the story of his courtship of Cerenna, "Most of my men haven't heard _that_ name yet, and I hope to keep it that way."

"That is one battle I am certain you will lose my friend," Forlong said with a smile.

Eomer scowled, "I suppose I'll have to concentrate on this one then."

"Where is your sister?" Forlong asked suddenly, "I'd hoped to say farewell to her too."

Eomer looked uncomfortable a moment, "She left this morning before the sun rose. The sentries say she was too angered with me to speak." He sighed, "I can't help but wonder if I've made a mistake…"

Grimbold rode up alongside Eomer suddenly, "We're ready my lord," he said, interrupting their conversation.

Eomer's head snapped up and he nodded, "Right," He lifted his reigns and glanced in their direction a moment, "Until we meet again." He turned towards Isengard, "Forth Eorlingas!" the men behind him cheered as the column of riders began moving north, the rumble of hoofbeats drowning out anything else.

 _So she would not even deign to speak to him,_ he thought as they watched the horses go by. He felt a tinge of anger suddenly, though he wasn't quite sure why. _What right does Eomer have to deny her the battlefield?_ He scowled, he'd followed many orders in his life which he had disagreed with, and the memories rankled him.

Jaime turned to begin walk back to their own camp, Forlong following him. They had been marching long enough that rolling up tents and repacking wagons was almost second nature to the men, and though they would never match the Rohirrim for speed he was sure that within the hour they would be ready to move.

They paused a moment in front of the small hobbit encampment, several of the hobbits seemed unusually sluggish. The lead hobbit, Smallburrow, was yelling at them and trying to get them moving faster.

"Did the lads get a little too much to drink last night Shirriff Smallburrow?" Forlong called genially.

"Too much to eat, most of them," Smallburrow muttered back. He shifted and his face went red a moment, "Prince Jaime, I can compensate you for the food they ate-"

"There is no need," Jaime said dismissively, and he meant it, even now food was plentiful and it was only by the orders of his father that the smallfolk had tended the fields at all during the summer.

"Good to hear," Smallburrow said, nodding. He shifted a moment and then bowed as low as he could without falling over, "Thank you Prince Jaime."

Jaime tried not to laugh at the little man's display, "That's not necessary Shirriff Smallburrow."

"Right," he muttered, standing up straight again, "We don't have any princes in the Shire, I don't want to seem rude…"

"I can't speak for other princes," Jaime said, "but I've never cared much for bowing and scraping."

"That's a relief," Smallburrow said, "Clegane always said you were…" His speech stumbled a moment, "Nevermind."

 _I can't imagine Clegane had anything good to say about knights and lords,_ "How is the Hound these days?" Jaime asked.

"I wish I knew myself," Smallburrow said as he watched a pair of hobbits pour water over a fire, "I'd half hoped he would return and lead this force, but when he didn't the Thane asked me to… I'm still hoping we'll run across him. The business he left on… I don't know much about it, but I know it involved the Wizard somehow." He sighed, "It seems unfair for him to get dragged into something like this again so soon after getting away from that sod Joffrey."

Jaime was a little taken aback at that, "Smallburrow," he began, "did Clegane ever speak of his time in Westeros to you?"

"Jaime," Forlong said in a low voice, "Perhaps Sandor Clegane's past is best-"

"He told me enough," Smallburrow said. Seeing their expressions he sighed, "I… I don't know how to put this. Sometimes when you're walking the roads you find yourself getting dirty, but there's nothing to be done about it and everyone you pass is just as dirty so you start to ignore it… then you step into a tavern or an inn and everyone there is clean, and you realize just how filthy you are. I think that's how Clegane felt in the Shire."

They were all quiet a moment at that, _I will have to speak with Clegane when this is over,_ he decided. A sudden image of the Witch King flashed through his mind, _if I have a chance to…_

As he'd expected the army was ready to march in short order, and they resumed their usual routine. He expected it would take them perhaps five days to reach Isengard, but on their second day a cold wind out of the east, and on the third a slow rain began to fall.

Jaime shivered as he rode alongside Forlong, who was wearing a thick fur cloak draped over his armor. He glared at the man enviously, at the behest of Forlong and Eomer he'd ordered the army to procure a number of thick blankets and cloaks before they'd left Lannisport, but it still seemed somehow unfair to see them in use already. _It's barely been six months since the last winter!_ He thought indignantly, _What mad god created a world with seasons like this?_

His misery was broken by the sound of songs echoing from somewhere further back in the column. Curious he eased back on the reigns of his horse and pulled to the side of the column. As the cavalry passed he could hear the lyrics more clearly.

 _Upon the hearth the fire is red,  
Beneath the roof there is a bed;  
But not yet weary are out feet,  
Still round the corner we may meet  
A sudden tree or standing stone  
That none have seen but we alone.  
Tree and flower and leaf and grass,  
Let them pass! Let them pass!  
Hill and water under sky,  
Pass them by! Pass them by!_

He saw that the hobbits were singing in time together, and many of his own knights were trying to join in, though they were still trying to guess the words. He felt warmer suddenly, or at least less cold, and he smiled as some of the hobbits waved at him.

 _They don't know what's waiting,_ he thought, _they haven't seen real war, haven't heard the screams... they don't write songs about that._

The rain cleared on the fourth day, and they were making good enough time that he could see the rear sentries of Eomer's force on the far side of the river. At about midday he saw the first of the smoke on the horizon, rising from the fortress of Orthanc.

"There it is," Forlong muttered as he rode close, "the dark heart of Isengard."

Before Jaime could reply he saw one of his outriders coming towards him, "Prince Jaime!" the man shouted, "enemy skirmishers have been spotted!"

"It seems the Wizard won't let us approach uncontested," Jaime said. He turned to Forlong, "gather archers and pepper any that get close, I will lead the cavalry to chase them down." Before the other man could respond Jaime rode in an arc, his personal unit of redcloaks following him and hoisting his banner, "Knights of Lannisport and the Rock! To me!" he shouted, causing a cheer to go up from the two units of cavalry as they rode towards him.

He glanced about him to see that other commanders of the army were doing the same, and soon several groups of knights were at the ready, waiting to charge against any enemies, and the archers were nocking arrows as the rest of the infantry watched eagerly.

He raised a hand to shade his eyes as he surveyed the prairie, _There!_ A group of orcs was running towards them, maybe one hundred at most. As they got closer he could see that they were lightly armored, to the point where some of them were nearly naked. A few of them held lit torches aloft and carried large packs on their backs, while others swung massive blades over their heads.

He frowned, _where are their bows? What sort of skirmishers don't have any-_

His thoughts were interrupted by the battle cry as a group of knights charged out of his line towards them, the blue and yellow banners of House Swyft waving over them.

"Hold!" he shouted, hoping to prevent any other lords from charging, but it was too late. At least one group of hedge knights rode forward, along with a group of men out of Feastfires.

 _Those fools will be more than enough to kill those skirmishers,_ he thought angrily _but I will be speaking with those lords when this is over._

Suddenly one of the torch bearing orcs broke away from the rest and began sprinting alone towards the Swyft knights. There was a flash and then a sound like thunder and suddenly fire exploded outward, tossing men and horses into the air.

The effect was immediate, the horses up and down the army broke into panic, and Jaime fought to keep his horse under control. The men did not fare any better, he heard some swear and call on the gods, and others raised shields as if to protect against some unseen attack.

"Archers!" Jaime shouted, "Don't let them get close!"

There was another explosion as another of the torchbearers met the hedge knights. The Feastfires men who were still mounted had turned their horses now and were bolting back towards the line, those men who had been dismounted were running on foot, their horses and weapons discarded. He could tell panic was growing in the army as the remaining orcs continued running at them.

 _I can't let the army break,_ he realized, _it could take days to gather the men and horses again over this country._

Arrows and bolts flew out in volleys from the army, pelting the orcs and bringing them down, but not as many as he'd hoped, and he could feel the tension rise as the orcs spread out, making it difficult for the volleys to find their marks.

"The torches!" he shouted, "Kill the ones with the torches!"

Several of them were nearly upon his part of the line now, and he heard screams of terror as some of the men turned to flee.

"Hold!" he shouted, trying to keep the fear from his voice.

"For the Shire!" he heard Smallburrow shout suddenly

"The Shire!" the hobbits echoed as dozens of arrows flew out from their small block of archers, each one catching one of the approaching orcs in the head or the chest.

As one of the torchbearers tumbled there was another ear shattering explosion, this time his horse would tolerate no more and felt himself flying backwards as he was thrown from the saddle.

He landed softly in the still wet soil. He rolled over and saw some of the orcs had made it to the line and were now swinging their swords wildly, cleaving into anyone they could reach. Against these foes at least his army was capable, and several men rushed forward to meet them.

"Prince Jaime lookout!" one of the redcloaks shouted, he turned to see that one of the torchbearers was near them.

Suddenly he was pulled backwards into the mud again, a knight in pale armor hefted a shield over them just as another explosion rang out. There was a ringing sound and the knight was knocked down with him.

Jaime lay there a moment, the blast had knocked something loose in his ears it seemed, he could only hear a ringing sound. Finally he forced himself to sit up. Looking around he saw that none of the torchbearers remained, and it seemed as though without them the armor had quickly overwhelmed the remaining orcs.

"You have my thanks ser," he said, turning over to the other knight, but only the ruined shield remained, several jagged bits of metal lodged in its front. He looked around hoping to catch some sight of his rescuer, but things were still chaotic in the aftermath of the attack as men ran about and tried to regain control of their horses. He glanced down at the shield, hoping to make out the sigil, the center was nearly torn apart, but he could make out the outline of a white tree with red leaves.

 _A weirwood? It couldn't be…_ But sure enough it was the shield of the laughing tree. _Some hedge knight must have taken it,_ he decided, _before the Rohirrim took the supplies to their camp._ Still, something about it troubled him.

It took nearly the rest of the day to get the army back in good order, the wounded needed to be treated, the dead buried, and a good number of the horses recaptured. He watched the work being done from atop his own horse, which thankfully had not gotten far, and scowled angrily.

"Nearly three hundred dead and the whole column stopped for hours," Jaime spat, "All done by less than a hundred orcs!"

"There could be more of them on the road ahead," Forlong said quietly, "It's what I would do if I had such weapons."

"We'll need to put the archers in front," Jaime decided, "The best we have."

"The shirefolk seem a good lot for the job," Forlong said, "They didn't run when others did, and from what I saw during the attack they're skilled sharpshooters."

Jaime nodded, "When we begin moving again Smallburrow's hobbits will march near the front, we'll have whatever's left of the Swyft men fall back to make room."

He noticed that several men were gathering the orc bodies in a large pile, presumably to burn them. One of the torchbearers still had a large metal sphere strapped to his back.

"You there!" Jaime shouted to the men doing the work, "Remove the packs before you start the pyre!" He thought a moment, "Gather all of the packs that remain and place them to the side, and in the name of the Gods be careful about it!"

"Yes Prince Jaime!" the man said, quickly scurrying up the pile to strip the corpses of the items in question.

"Should we be handling those?" Forlong asked hesitantly, "We've no idea how they work…"

"Fire is how they work," Jaime said, "if orcs can figure them out so can we." Forlong still seemed uncertain, "We'll have them gathered and placed in a wagon one hundred, no, two hundred paces back from the rest of the army."

"This still seems dangerous to me," Forlong muttered, gripping his axe, "I'll stick with the weapons I know."

Jaime wasn't listening though, he was staring upriver, where smoke rose from the wizard's lair. _I'm coming for you,_ he thought, _and all of the tricks and cleverness in the world will not save you._

 **A/N: The battle for Isengard draws near. The hobbit song is one from the books that Bilbo wrote.**

 **Pyromania101 - My biggest complaint about Season 6 is that Jaime's character development seems to be moving in the wrong direction for how far into the story we are in the show.**

 **ATP - Don't worry we'll get back to Tyrion soon!**

 **U.N.S. - The "I forgot many things" is actually a line he says in the book when they ask what happened to him after his fight with the Balrog. The implication is that he passed out of the world and so a lot of worldly things were forgotten.**

 **Seanbob1 - Waking up Theoden is on Gandalf's "to-do" list.**

 **Quelthias - You are correct, might is right in Tywin's opinion and if Aragorn's got an army of ghosts he can crown himself king of whatever he damn well pleases.**

 **Deadblow13 - Tyrion is Tywin's true son mostly because they both had very difficult upbringings that brought them to certain conclusions about the world. Neither one would ever admit that though.**


	118. CXII The Imp

**CXII**

 **The Imp**

They'd given him another dose of the orc-draught for the pain, but Tyrion's face still throbbed from the beating he'd been given as punishment for his role in Pippin's escape. At first they'd tried to tie a gag in his mouth, but with his broken nose it made breathing difficult, and fearful of suffocating him, Ugluk had removed it on the condition that he not speak, lest he be beaten again.

The orcs were moving slower now, fanned out as they trudged through the undergrowth. The woods were strangely quiet, and the loudest sound was the crunch of the autumn leaves beneath their feet as they walked. It was a queer thing, the buzzing of insects and the chirping of birds would stop as they passed by, but he was sure there was _something_ moving behind the trees. Ugluk heard it too, and Tyrion could feel his captor's nervousness as they searched for the escaped hobbit.

"I found something!" one of the orcs shouted, Tyrion felt the world sway as Ugluk shifted his bound form, running quickly. The orc handed Ugluk a small leaf-shaped buckle, Ugluk held it up to the light a moment before grinning.

"Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall," the orc growled. He looked around a moment, "I know you're close!" Ugluk shouted, "Come out now and there will be no punishments!" a few of the orcs snickered, but Ugluk glared at them and they went quiet.

There was a slight shuffle only a little ways ahead of them, Ugluk made a quick gesture with his free hand and a few of the orcs crept forward silently.

"Help!" Pippin's voice rang out, peering up Tyrion could see the hobbit dangling from a branch and his heart sank.

"He's gotten himself tangled in a vine!" Ugluk laughed, "Let's go cut him down!"

Suddenly Pippin swayed and was pulled upwards, causing Ugluk and the orcs with him to pause.

"HARRRRUUUM!" A deep voice rumbled, "How dare you defile this place!"

Tyrion's eyes widened as one of the trees shuffled a moment and then _stepped_ forward, Pippin held high by one of the branches.

 _No,_ Tyrion realized, _not a branch, an arm!_

The figure stepped fully into view now, it had arms and legs like a man, but it's skin was covered in smooth brown bark, and small twigs and leaves sprouted from its body. Where there should have been hair were leaves and red berries. The next thing that Tyrion noticed was that it was big, bigger than Gregor Clegane, bigger than a troll, and certainly bigger than the orcs. It shouted as it brought a gnarled fist the size of a carriage wheel down on the nearest of them, causing the ground and the trees to shake with the impact.

"Kill it!" Ugluk shouted, but most of the orcs were trying to turn and run. One of the braver Uruks drew a sword and hacked into where the thing's legs should be. It rumbled angrily and kicked the orc the way a man might a small dog, causing it to slam into a nearby tree with a sick cracking noise. This was too much for the exhausted orcs, and they broke, fleeing into the woods.

Ugluk swore angrily and placed Tyrion on the ground, "I'll be back for you!" he sneered as he drew his sword.

Ugluk ran at the creature with surprising speed and leapt, grasping the thick hide and pulling himself higher until he was close to its face. The thing growled and an arm came around to grab Ugluk, but not before he brought his sword down near its eye with a sound like an axe splitting wood.

This time there was a cry of pain, and it almost dropped Pippin. Ugluk roared and brought the sword up again, but this time the creature grabbed him before the blow fell, pulling the orc away from its face. Ugluk thrashed angrily, hacking at the arm with all the fury he could muster, but with a crunch the hand squeezed once and Ugluk went limp.

A look of disgust came over the treelike face, "Nasty business," it rumbled before dropping the corpse to the forest floor. It hefted Pippin up to its face again, and as it turned Tyrion could see sap oozing like blood from the cut underneath the eye.

There was another rumbling sound from the forest as a second tree-man appeared, this one slightly taller than the other, with a more gnarled appearance and a mossy beard growing over mottled bark. Groaning noises like creaking wood filled the air, and Tyrion realized that the two were talking to one another.

He glanced up at Pippin, still trapped in the wooden fist, wide eyed and panicked. _I've got to do something,_ he thought, but tied and gagged and with a broken leg to boot he wasn't sure what that would be. He noticed a discarded sword nearby, and decided that he would start by getting his bonds undone. It took him several minutes to work through the rope, during which the creatures continued to talk in their strange language.

He untied the gag with his now freed hands and glanced up at the tree-men, _how could you even hurt something like that? Fire maybe…_ The two creatures were both examining Pippin now, who was too scared to speak.

 _Well they're not bloodthirsty savages at least, and they speak the common tongue._ His leg throbbed a moment and he winced in pain, _I'm not getting out of here by myself either…_ He sighed a moment before putting on his best friendly smile and standing up, struggling to balance himself with the splinted leg.

"Hello!" he called in what he hoped was a genial tone, "I must thank you my friends! You've free us from the clutches of those bandits!" The two tree-creatures glanced down at him and slowly walked over, shaking the ground with their steps. He gulped as they looked down at him curiously.

"So this one can talk at least," the bearded one rumbled.

"I-I can talk!" Pippin stuttered.

"And with a nice little voice at that," The one holding him said.

"What are you and who are you?" The bearded one rumbled, "I know of most creatures, but it has been long since I wandered the world, and new things seem to crawl out of Isengard nowadays."

"We are not from Isengard," Tyrion said quickly.

"I'm a hobbit!" Pippin said eagerly, "from the Shire!"

"I've never heard of a hobbit or a Shire," the bearded one said, "Those don't seem like elven words… who gave you that name?"

Pippin seemed confused by that, "We gave it to ourselves I suppose…"

"Hmmm…" the creature stroked it's mossy beard and looked down at Tyrion, "Have you anything to say about this?"

"No," Tyrion began, "I'm not a hobbit at all you see, just a very small man I'm afraid-"

"This seems like trickery to me!" the smooth barked thing said, "Look at him Treebeard! He is far too small to be a man, and he has no horse -"

"Now, now, Quickbeam," the bearded one, Treebeard, said, "let us not be too hasty, some trees grow tall and others grow so small they might be mistaken for bushes or even grasses! Surely this might be said of men and 'hobbits'…" He bent low to look closer at Tyrion, "Though this may yet be a trick…"

"It's no trick!" Tyrion tried to reassure him, "It is as you said, I simply didn't grow as much as other men… my friend there is a hobbit from the Shire. I can vouch for that! And I am a man of the Westerlands!"

"One stranger vouches for another," Treebeard muttered, "that does me little good when searching for the truth, but you seem talkative at least… hasty as well, to give those names so freely." Treebeard looked back to Quickbeam, "I do not think they are orcs."

 _That is some progress at least,_ "Now that we have discussed peoples perhaps names and titles are in order?" Tyrion said, "I am Tyrion Lannister, son of Tywin Lannister, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands and Lord of Casterly Rock."

"Well met then Tyrion Lannister," Treebeard said, "though I do not know where these "Westerlands" are."

"And I am Preregrin Took!" Pippin said, "Son of Shire-Thane Paladin Took."

"Names for names then," Treebeard replied, "Or at any rate we will give you names to call us in your own tongue," he gestured to the other creature, "This young spriggan is Quickbeam, and I am Treebeard, oldest of the Ents of these woods."

"Ents?" Pippin asked, "Is that what you call yourselves? Your people I mean."

Treebeard seemed to sigh, "Has it been so long that not even tales are told of us? Yes, we are the Ents, shepherds and watchers of the trees." He gestured for Quickbeam to lower Pippin down to the ground, "Now the time has come for you two to answer questions. What business brings you to this forest in the company of orcs?" at the last word the Ent's voice turned harsh again, "Did you have dealings with Isengard? Do not lie! I will know!"

"Of course we've had no dealings with Isengard!" Pippin said indignantly before Tyrion could say anything, "We were prisoners! I only barely escaped when that one!" he pointed to Quickbeam, "tangled me up in some branches!"

"Perhaps you were going ahead of them to warn of traps?" Quickbeam retorted, glowering down at the hobbit.

"Now let's not get ahead of ourselves!" Tyrion said quickly, shooting an angry glance at Pippin.

"I agree," Treebeard said, "Hastiness is how mistakes are made! Let us start back at the beginning! These orcs had captured you, but how did they come upon you in the first place?"

Pippin and Tyrion glanced at one another, "I don't know that it would be wise to say," Tyrion said, "At least not until I know you a little better."

"We don't know what side you're on you see…" Pippin said uncertainly.

"Sides?" Treebeard laughed, though there was a hint of sadness to it, "Perhaps one day you will realize that there are no "sides," there are those you go along with for a time because you are going the same way, they help you walk the path or help you with those going against you, but their path is not yours." He paused and sighed, "You cannot help each other reach the clearing at the end of that path even if you wanted to."

 _This is a man, Ent rather, that understands politics,_ Tyrion thought, "Very well then," he said, "Which way are you going? Perhaps our paths part here, or perhaps we are going the same way… My path takes me against Isengard. Does yours?"

"Hmmm," Treebeard rumbled, "It may come to pass that it does, it may come to pass that it doesn't." He regarded Tyrion a moment, "You know more," a statement not a question, "We Ents are a careful folk, if we are to decide on a course of action news of the world outside would be useful in helping us make that decision."

He seemed to be waiting for Tyrion's reaction, _He's not a friend of the Wizard then,_ he thought, _but he's no ally or Gondor or Rohan either..._ his thoughts returned to the Ringbearer, the Ringbearer and that shining circle of gold that he'd seen for only the briefest moment, _That at least will be kept secret._

"News," Tyrion said, "Now that is a broad category, what news interests you the most?"

" _All_ of it interests me," Treebeard rumbled, "Leave out a little of each thing and you leave out most of all things."

"All of it then," Tyrion said slowly, "That's a rather long story, especially for a place like this-"

"I have a home nearby!" Quickbeam said, "With food and drink that I think will satisfy everyone."

Treebeard seemed to chuckle, "So hasty that he won't even let you finish your thought master Tyrion! But he is right I think, if you have a long tale to tell it would be better told in full and at rest."

Suddenly the trees began groaning loudly, and swaying as though a stiff breeze were blowing them. Treebeard and Quickbeam looked around a moment before looking back to one another.

"They're talking to you aren't they?" Pippin asked, "what's going on?"

"Hmm…" Treebeard replied, stroking his beard, "More strangers moving through the trees it seems."

"The orcs?" Tyrion asked, "Most of them fled, they could still be around somewhere."

"No," Treebeard sighed, "I do not think the orcs will get far, these trees have become wild, there are not enough Ents to shepherd them as we should, and in the face of something as foul as an orc they will fell it before it can fell them." Treebeard craned his neck a moment, "Men with horses," his eyes widened a moment, "And an elf among them? These are strange tidings… Elves have not walked this forest in an age."

"Legolas!" Pippin exclaimed, "He's a friend of mine!"

"Treebeard," Tyrion asked suddenly, "The man leading them, does he have a long yellow beard?"

Treebeard chuckled a little, "Trees can say many things, but they are still trees. If these are your friends then they will have yet more news, and yet more of your story, and theirs as well." He turned to Quickbeam and for a few minutes they groaned at one another in the Entish language before Treebeard turned and began walking back towards the border of the forest.

"It seems as though you are hurt Master Tyrion," Quickbeam rumbled. Suddenly the massive hand reached down, giving Tyrion a start as it gripped his waist, "Let me carry you for now." He felt himself lifted up and gently set on the Ent's shoulder. Glancing to his side he saw the ent doing the same with Pippin. "Hold on!"

There was a lurch as the ent stepped forward, and following his advice Tyrion grabbed a branch to steady himself. They moved through the forest with ease, the small things that would have tripped up a normal sized traveler, roots, pits, and brush the ent just stepped over, and though the ent made slow and deliberate strides they were wide enough that it seemed as though they were still moving quickly, or quicker than he could walk at any rate.

It didn't take them long to reach a large rocky hill, beside a slowly flowing brook Tyrion could see an arched opening that he would have took for a cave. As they got closer he could see a table taller than he was and a large boulder that he guessed was used as a chair or stool. Quickbeam set them down lightly inside and moved towards the back of the large cavern where a massive shelf had been set. He returned with a pair of wooden mugs, setting them down in front of Tyrion and Pippin.

"I am afraid these are the smallest vessels I have," Quickbeam apologized, "Ent-draught is a fine drink for the spirit and the stomach."

Tyrion leaned over and picked his up with both hands. It seemed comically large, and it was filled with a glowing green liquid… or at least he thought it was liquid, it ebbed and flowed like a liquid when he moved the mug, but the center of it seemed solid and there were a few particles in it that didn't look like they moved with the drink.

"Quickbeam," he said uncertainly, "Are you sure this is safe for men to-"

"It's good!" Pippin interrupted, a bit of the green brew still on his face. He'd hefted the massive cup and tipped it, splashing it over his face.

Tyrion stared at him a moment, "What are you looking at?" Pippin asked uncomfortably.

"I'm waiting to see if you die," Tyrion replied nonchalantly, "Do you feel any shakes? A burning sensation perhaps?"

"The only burning sensation I feel," Pippin replied indignantly, "is the same one you should feel with any strong spirits!"

"I should have grabbed some of the orc-draught off Ugluk," he muttered.

"That stuff was poison," Pippin said with a scowl, "don't ruin the taste of a good drink with the memory of a bad one."

"Almost everything enjoyable in life is a poison," Tyrion said, "And besides it wasn't _that_ bad, I can think of a few foods it might pair well with."

Pippin wrinkled his nose, "I don't know who cooks for you, but that stuff belonged in a gutter not next to a plate." He tipped the mug to take another few sips of the ent-draught, "And besides," he said, wiping his face, "If you like poisons you don't have anything to lose by drinking some of this!"

 _Well he's still alive, it's probably safe enough…_ Tyrion stared down at the drink and sighed, "It seems I've been outwitted." He tipped the ent-draught and took a few sips. It had a woody taste to it, but it was somehow sweet as well. He rolled it over his tongue and swallowed, feeling the warm feeling beginning to spread from his toes upward.

Quickbeam sat down next to them with his own drink, rumbling the cavern as he did so, "Is it acceptable?" he asked, "I could provide you with water if it is not."

"It's very good," Tyrion said, lifting the cup with both arms to take another drink, _let's see what this one knows…_ "Quickbeam," he said in a genial tone, "Who rules over the ents? Have you a king?"

"Rules over?" Quickbeam asked, "I do not know what you mean by this, nor do I know much of kings save for stories."

"Who makes decisions for the ents?" Tyrion asked. He thought a moment, "If the orcs out of Isengard are troubling the forest who do you ask for help?"

"Ents make decisions for ents," Quickbeam said, rubbing his chin in thought, "Treebeard is the eldest among us, and he keeps things in good order when there are disputes and troubles."

Pippin seemed to understand where Tyrion's questioning was leading, "What will he do about Saruman?" the hobbit asked.

"It is an important decision, Treebeard thinks it would be too hasty to make it alone. He has called for an Entmoot," Quickbeam said, seeing their confused expressions he continued, "It is a gathering of Ents where great questions are decided." He harrumphed loudly, "I will not go, I have made my decision and anyone who would heed my voice knows it."

"So you're going to war with Isengard?" Pippin asked excitedly.

"A hasty presumption to make based on my words I think," Quickbeam said, "but yes, I will at least." He regarded them a moment, "It might come to pass that your words at the Entmoot will be more important than my own."

"What do you mean by that?" Pippin asked.

"Treebeard wants to see who else is going to war," Tyrion surmised, "and depending on what he finds out from our friends he'll know what to tell the other ents."

"Indeed," Quickbeam nodded, "There are some who are afraid, and some who are simply not as hasty as I am, and Treebeard will want them to know if others have already risen against the Wizard."

"Does Treebeard want war do you think?" Pippin asked.

"Treebeard is…" Quickbeam seemed to struggle to find the words, "He is very good at knowing the minds of you smaller folk, and ents too. He is one of few ents who has ever seen a war… I do not think he wants one, but if he thinks there should be one he will fight it. He knows Saruman well, or he knew him you could say, with these orcs and with your arrival I think that Treebeard has figured out his schemes, or a great part of them."

The trees outside began swaying again, and Tyrion and Pippin both looked to Quickbeam for an explanation.

"Treebeard has found your friends," The ent rumbled, "They are coming this way."

Tyrion set his drink down and rose hesitantly to his feet. He had barely managed to stand up when his splint fell off his leg. He looked down in shock and realized that his leg felt completely fine. He put his weight on it a few times to be sure, but though there were a few sharp stabbing pains he was able to stand on it.

"Ah that is ent-draught for you," Quickbeam chuckled, "It is said to be good for bones and bark!"

"Quite," Tyrion agreed, shifting his weight and examining his leg. His brow furrowed as he noticed his pants only seemed to go halfway down his leg.

"Something's different about you," Pippin said suddenly, "You look taller!"

"That's ridiculous," Tyrion muttered, but as he glanced at the table he'd seen earlier he realized his eyes were now level with the surface where before it had been above his forehead. "I can't be…" _Taller!?_

 **A/N: And with that we've had a chapter from each Lannister sibling. Ent-Draught makes you a little taller, but only a few inches so Tyrion won't be normal sized anytime soon. I think they had a deleted scene in the movies where Merry and Pippin drink it.**

 **Lord Razer - Yeah I played the Two Towers game with my brother back in the day, those suicide bombers were always good for a quick scare as you scrambled to take them out before they got to you.**

 **Jackalope89 - The identity of the "Mystery Knight" is fairly obvious I agree.**

 **Guest - In the books the ghosts frighten the Corsairs long enough for Aragorn to rally the forces of the city and take their ships, in the movies they could basically kill anything they touched.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - I had a lot of moments I liked, the only thing I really didn't like was the Jaime's arc actually, Jaime's seen enough of Cersei by now that he should be moving on emotionally not trying to get back to her. Also I don't think Clegane's new friends necessarily _needed_ to die for him to get the points they were trying to make, but I suppose it did move his story forward at least. **

**ATP - Well I was going to have her masquerade as "Ser Robert Strong" at one point, but who would even come up with a name like that with Jaime's current force?**

 **Seanbob1 - We'll see how things play out, I'll probably depict the ghosts a bit closer to the book than the movies.**

 **Deadblow & Thorstein - Euron's fine, he and his ships are going north with the Haradrim army and we'll see him again when we return to the Southern theater. **


	119. CXIII Saruman of Many Colors

**CXIII**

 **Saruman of Many Colors**

Saruman looked down at the approaching army with disdain, _insects,_ he thought as he watched the Westerlands army scurrying to set up their encampment. He could see their trebuchets being erected and rolled his eyes. _They cannot breach the walls of Isengard with mere stone._ That was the problem really, men, and every other people, had gone backwards. The Elves were all but gone from Middle Earth, the Dwarves celebrated their riches even as their numbers dwindled, and men proudly proclaimed their kingdoms and lineage even as they grew less impressive with each passing generation. What fool would put their faith in the so called "free peoples" to resist the will of Sauron?

 _Or Saruman for that matter._ He noticed one of the large red banners favored by the Lannisters and sighed angrily, _Westeros… a land of change and ambition. I could have done great things there… Olorin wouldn't stand in my way at the very least._

The Rohirrim army on the other side of the Isen had their banners too of course, though less numerous and not quite so large. His spies had told him that Eomer had resumed command over the Rohirrim, sending Eowyn away from the battlefield, though in truth it didn't matter to him which sibling commanded the army. He had sent the Dunlendings to harass their approach as he had sent the Uruk-Hai to harass the Lannister army, each moment of delay was an advantage now, and the hill-men had accomplished that much at least.

His gaze drifted further to within the walls, where his own soldiers scurried in and out of the pits and marched about in ordered lines. One group of orcs was working a massive pulley, helping to lift a ballista onto the walls. Further back there were catapults loaded with flashpowder bombs. He did not expect ot use them today, but when the time came they would rain fire and death down on the enemy.

 _Another few months and I could have had enough flashpowder to lay waste to any army in Middle Earth,_ he thought miserably, _now I must fight this battle with steel and stone,_ and fight over steel and stone as well, for the Rohirrim were positioning themselves on the far side of the river, and judging by the movements of the Lannister force the two armies intended to attack and take the crossing of the Wizard's vale, a small shallow crossing where a stone bridge had been constructed long before he'd taken up residence in Orthanc and which still stood only a few hundred yards from the main gates of Orthanc.

 _That at least you will bleed for,_ he thought as he turned to walk back into the tower. He had considered ordering the bridge destroyed long before they approached of course, but the water in that part of the river was only a foot deep at most. If they took the crossing the two armies would be able to reinforce one another as needed with or without the bridge, making his plans for breaking their lines more difficult. To that end he'd had both sides of the crossing fortified with earth and stone piled man-high and surrounded pikes driven into the ground. Though it was guarded by only five hundred Uruks they could easily be relieved by sorties from the main gates or supported by crossbows from the walls.

He found Qyburn a few floors below, tending to a Rookery containing _crebain_ and a few of the mute messenger ravens of the Westerlands.

"They have not seen Ugluk's force," The maester said quietly, "They flew at least ten leagues out and reported only foes."

"It is a long journey," Saruman replied, "even for creatures like the Uruk-Hai. They will come, perhaps in two or three days." He gave a reassuring smile, "Surely we can last until then?"

"We have enough food to last us for months," Qyburn said, "and if need be our friends from Dunland can provide the rest of the army with additional rations if it comes to that. Our enemy surely knows this and I think they will seek to take Orthanc by force."

Saruman nodded, "Even now they are moving into position to take the crossing, if it falls they will be free to assail the walls. I am going to the gates now to oversee its defense."

"I'll be of little help in that I'm afraid," Qyburn said, "some maesters learn the ways of war, they add an iron link to their chains you see, but swords and battle haven't appealed to me since I was but a boy, and they certainly don't now." He grinned and rotated the ring resting on his finger slowly, "through your mastery of these rings I have felt some of the strength and vigor of youth return, though thankfully none of its impetuousness."

"That is the least of what they are capable of," he remarked before continuing towards the staircase. He paused, "Accompany me to the gates," Saruman ordered, "even if you think yourself useless on a battlefield you should see your creations at work, and there is little else for you to do now."

Qyburn didn't protest, and the two of them made their way down through the remaining levels of the tower and out into the vast interior of the ring of Isengard. The scene as they left the tower was chaotic to say the least, there were over ten thousand Uruk-Hai in, and below, Isengard, and several thousand men of Dunland who had answered his call as well.

"Make way!" an orc shouted as they walked along the stone pathways, "The Master is coming! Make way!"

As he shouted theother orcs scurried to get out of their way, pushing carts and pulling wargs along by heavy chains. Some roared triumphantly as he passed, others seemed to go into a frenzy, waving banners and shouting tributes in both the speech of Mordor and Westron. He felt his chest swelling with pride the further he walked, and by the time they reached the gates he could not help but smile as he saw the columns of neatly lined Uruks and warg-riders waiting for his orders.

 _My victory is close at hand, soon none will doubt the power and wisdom of Saruman, greatest of the Istari!_ For a moment his thoughts turned to Gandalf, _What did they see in you?_ He wondered, _what did you ever do to convince the fools of this world that you were so worthy of respect and trust?_ He felt the anger and resentment rising in him as he remembered the gift the Shipwright had withheld so long ago, only to give it to Gandalf. _I was the head of the order, that ring should have been_ _ **mine!**_

It didn't matter now of course, Gandalf and his elven trinkets were lost in the pit of Moria, where they would rest forevermore. He was alive, and stronger than ever.

His thoughts were interrupted by the approach of one of the orc captains, "Master," the orc said with a bow, "I am Yurk, the leader of these battalions," he gestured back at the assembled orcs. "I have ordered the men from Dunland to accompany the sortie, but their chieftain refuses!"

Saruman frowned and turned towards a group of perhaps five hundred Dunlendings who were also gathered off to the side of the gate. They seemed anxious, and they gripped their weapons tightly. _Another lesson in the superiority of the orc in matters of war,_ he thought with annoyance as he walked towards them.

"Friends!" he cried out in Dunlendish, "The time for battle is nearly here! Why do you cower?"

The leader stepped forward, a chieftain known as Freca of the hills. He was a short and hairy man, with a long and unkempt mop of hair barely held in place by a steel band he wore across his head.

"Wizard," he snarled, "You promised us a grand raid, a war where we would take women and land at will!" he gestured to the walls, "Instead we answer your call only to find ourselves penned in like wounded deer before the wolves, to fight men with steel armor and swords!" He spat on the ground, "There is no plunder to be had here, open your gates! We are going home."

"Is that the worth of the men of Dunland?" he asked in a loud enough voice that they could all hear, "Will they flee when the time of vengeance is at hand?" He pointed to the walls, "Just beyond there Prince Eomer of Rohan laughs and tells tales of the men he has killed!"

"Murderer!" one man shouted, and there were grumbles of agreement, but Freca was not yet convinced.

"You are not as clever as you think you are wizard," the chieftain said in a low voice, "you have been beaten, and like a proud fool you have chosen to die rather than realize it!"

Anger welled within him, but rather than lash out at the hill dwelling barbarian his voice grew low and powerful, "Have you forgotten all honor? All pride? They are commanded by Eomer, that foul scion of the house of Eorl," He spat the name, "The one who drove your ancestors out of their lands, to force you to scrabble among rocks and weeds while they feast in halls that should be _yours!_ " He turned his gaze to Freca, "They should bleed as your people have been bled!" His voice grew solemn, "Friends… this may be the last chance to avenge the crimes of the horselords, they have made powerful friends..." he paused, letting them digest his words, " _Greedy_ friends. In truth there is no choice, you may fight them here and now with me or fight them later in your own homes, as your women and children look on." That got their attention, and the thought of the Rohirrim in their homes roused a greater anger than any talk of vengeance had.

Freca's brow was furrowed, and he seemed to be concentrating, but he nodded, "You are right… I do not know why I have not realized these things." He raised his axe high, "To war! Let us drink their blood!" The men cheered and followed him as he marched toward the gate.

Saruman followed slightly behind them for a few paces before walking back towards where Yurk and Qyburn were waiting, "They will fight," he said.

"A shame," Yurk growled, "They'd have made a fine dinner." The orc leader watched as the Uruks continued to prepare the attack. Behind the orcs the men of Dunland formed into crude ranks, many in the front unlimbered circular shields.

"I'd thought them ruffians and brutes before," Qyburn commented, watching the men, "but even ruffians and brutes have uses… next to the Uruk-Hai though they just seem…"

"Obsolete," Saruman finished.

"An odd thought," Qyburn said quietly, "to have improved on the works of the gods themselves. What does that make us I wonder?"

Saruman did not respond at first, still thinking on how he would punish Freca for his insolence, but then a thought struck him, "Yurk," he said, causing the orc commander to jerk to attention. "Allow the Dunlendings to push ahead of your main force, when the time comes do not withdraw through the main gate, take your force back through one of the tunnels."

Yurk's eyes widened and a cruel grin spread across his face, "As you wish master!"

"I take it our friends from Dunland do not know about the tunnels under the walls?" Qyburn asked as the orc commander donned his helmet and walked towards the assembled Uruks.

"They do not," Saruman replied, "You were right, they are a cowardly and foolish people, it is best to get the most use out of them now while we still can. If we put them in a position from which there is _no_ escape they will prefer death to flight."

"What of the remaining Dunlendings inside the walls?" Qyburn asked, "I do not think they will take kindly to this betrayal…"

"Fool that he is Freca is the smartest and most willful among them," Saruman said, watching the Dunlending chieftain shout warcries and slam a fist against his chest, "Without him the rest will fall in line easily enough, they would cut their own throats if I ordered it."

The two of them parted from the soldiers and walked towards a staircase that lead up onto the wall proper. The walls of Isengard were not particularly high, and in time Saruman expected they would need to be defended directly against siege towers and ladders, but they were thick and they were strong.

 _We need only hold the walls for three days,_ he thought, _three days and Ugluk will come with my prize!_ He looked out at the small fort the Uruks had built around the river crossing, _it will take them at least two to take that, and they wouldn't dare assault the walls without it._ As if in answer to his thoughts the first of the enemy horns sounded, the Rohirrim to his ear, then the other, a lower steadier horn favored by the Lannisters.

The first attack came in the form of bolts and arrows, arced high over the small fortification from both armies. The well-trained orcs defending the crossing responded by raising their shields and taking cover behind the stacked brick and wood of the fort. Atop the wall the orcs shouted and began firing from the series of ballistae, sending long bolts out at the massed archers of the enemy and giving relief to their brothers below at the crossing. As the bolts continued to rain down the enemy archers ceased their volleys and fell back.

 _You won't take it by arrow-storm,_ he thought with a smile, _it won't be_ nearly _that easy._

From what he could tell the commanders, both Eomer Eadig and Jaime Lannister, were quickly coming to the same conclusion. Signal flags on both sides of the river waved and he saw cavalry beginning to separate out from the rest of the army along some heavy infantry. Inside the fort the Uruks began preparing for the charge, fixing massive pikes in place and loading crossbows of their own. About two thirds of the orcs waited on eastern side of the fort for the Rohirrim, while the remaining third waited on the west barrier for the Westermen.

He frowned, _If Jaime Lannister sees that he will realize a sortie is coming,_ but a moment later he heard the battle cries and trumpets as the first wave of Lannister soldiers ran towards the fort. He grinned, _or not…_ He found he was enjoying himself, on the field of battle plots and plans came together in minutes instead of years, the satisfaction no less sweet.

"Prepare for volleys!" he shouted, "target the Rohirrim!" At his command orcs below loaded bolts into their weapons. He waited for a moment until the enemy forces drew closer, "Loose bolts!" he cried, and with a hiss and whoosh thousands of crossbow bolts flew over the walls and towards the charging enemy. Most of the bolts landed short, but at least a few of them landed among the Rohirrim, causing horses to fall and riders to tumble. The Lannister charge, with fewer crossbows targeting it, had not slowed at all.

"Open the gates!" he ordered loudly. There was a creaking sound as the gates slowly opened, then a roar as the Uruks and Dunlendings charged outward towards the Westermen knights just as they were about to reach the crossing.

In a graceful move that surprised Saruman the cavalry leading the charge arced away from the fort and towards the approaching sortie, _Perhaps Ser Jaime is not so foolish after all._ He'd prepared for this though, and from the Uruks a number of torches lit as lightly armored orcs ran ahead of their comrades, iron spheres visible on their backs.

The knights saw this and scattered, effectively breaking the charge. Only one in three of the canisters actually contained flashpowder, but judging from the fear the weapon inspired in the enemy soldiers the suicide charge would have worked even if the knights had known this. There were only two quick explosions, but the damage was done. Among the infantry many were scrambling to load crossbows or aim bows, those without them stopped, waiting behind those with ranged weapons rather than approach the charging orcs. In their panic they failed to form ranks or ready themselves for the charging Uruks.

The momentum of the attack broke as the soldiers of Isengard met the besiegers, and across the river the Rohirrim attack stalled as the reinforcements from the sortie joined the battle in front of the fort. He smiled.

"Do you still worry that three days is too long to wait maester Qyburn?" He asked with a grin as the Rohirrhim began their withdrawal on the far side of the river.

"Perhaps not," Qyburn said, studying the battlefield. The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile as well, "I suppose I should have known better, but there was a part of me that still thought of the Lannisters as the titans they were in Westeros, masters of an army without rival in the Seven Kingdoms…" He laughed, "And now they can't take a fortress from a pair of old men!"

And he was right, though the Lannister attack had lasted a little longer than the Rohirrim's, largely through weight of numbers, but now they were now rallying and preparing to withdraw as well, the attempt to take the river crossing abandoned. Further away he could see the Lannisters forming up several more units of cavalry, no doubt to cover the retreat of the remaining soldiers. A moment later the knights charged toward their fellows.

"Sound retreat!" Saruman ordered, and a moment later a series of short trumpet blasts rang out. On the battlefield in front of them most of the orcs began moving back towards the fortress.

The men of Dunland however were not used to such battlefield maneuvers, and it took them several moments to realize most of their allies had fallen back. It didn't take the enemy cavalry long to notice the men lagging behind, and rather than covering the flanks of their retreating infantry they soon moved into a column to run the hillmen down.

The Dunlendings panicked, and he could see a figure he was sure was Freca gesturing and shouting franticly as they tried to follow the orcs back towards the ring of Isengard, but a cry of dismay went up from them as the gates began creaking shut. The orcs below had known this was coming of course, and they parted to the left and right towards parts of the walls where hidden entrances would be opened to admit them.

They knew they had been betrayed now, and they quickly rallied around their chieftain and closed ranks as best they could. It was no use of course, the steel clad horsemen rode over them like waves over sand and they disappeared from view. On the wall the Uruks were firing trebuchets into the knights again, and after a few moments the enemy knights fell back, leaving a field of corpses in their wake.

 _Who is the proud fool now Freca of the hills?_

"Take cover!" one of the orc commanders shouted, Saruman looked up to see a series of large boulders being hurtled towards them by the enemy trebuchets.

Qyburn looked panicked a moment, "My lord," he began, "perhaps we should-"

He muttered a few words under his breath and a strong wind blew, one of the rocks which seemed to be bearing down on their position seemed to shift in midair, coming down on a different section of wall and crashing into a pair of Uruks who had not run fast enough.

"Jaime Lannister's impotent siege weapons are no threat to a fortress of Numenorean design," he said, "Let him hurl boulders at us if he wishes, it will only waste his time." He regarded the siege engines in the distance a moment, _Sooner or later he will realize he should have turned those on the bridge-fort at the beginning, then our armies will meet upon the walls…_ He looked out over the fields to the banners waving in the breeze and smiled, _a harsh lesson in humility is in order for the Lannisters._

 **A/N: The siege has begun! There is a map over in the spacebattles thread and the Archive of our Own post, it's another terrible MS Paint sketch unfortunately.**

 **Lord Razer - Tywin always sees what he wants to see in his kids, and he always wants to see the worst in Tyrion. In canon he begrudgingly admits Tyrion has "low cunning" when Tyrion basically saved King's Landing.**

 **Jackalope089 - A lot of people will probably need to do some sightseeing when the war is over.**

 **Lordkalel - I mean he probably has some on under the robes... probably.**

 **ATP - there's a lot of theories about where the Entwives are, I don't know if the Lannisters would be any help to them.**

 **L'Etranger - Thanks! The war is really heating up now, there are still many challenges ahead.**

 **\- Well he's now just a really short guy instead of a dwarf, that's something.**

 **Nonameavailable Bis - That's my thoughts on it, the two most popular houses are Stark and Lannister, the Starks would still be an interesting story but overall they have far fewer demons to confront than the Lannisters.**

 **Winterdragonaredhel - I don't know that the Lannisters are up to a first age war, I think you'd need to go 2nd age or later for them to have an impact beyond being a low level faction.**

 **TheHungryWolf - On the white walkers thing I just think Sauron and Saruman are clever enough that they'd be able to figure out a way to kill the White Walkers even without obsidion or Valyrian Steel, I mean FireIce isn't exactly rocket science, and where the ASOIAF characters are just now figuring out the whole "high fantasy" thing Sauron pretty much lives and breaths it.**

 **Seanbob1 - Well his elven name is Bregalad, and I'd originally had them call him that, but in canon Treebeard is pretty reluctant to give out any name to strangers but his Westron one, so I figured he wouldn't want "Quickbeam" doing so either.**

 **Deadblow13 - There are no other crossover characters coming, everyone that's here has been revealed. Incidentally I had thought of bringing Edmure Tully along at one point, using the justification that his force was near the Lannister army at the time of the Arrival, but I decided against it because I just couldn't think of anything interesting for him to do. Sorry for the long response time!**


	120. CXIV The Shieldmaiden

**CXIV**

 **The Shieldmaiden**

Eowyn swore under her breath as she followed the other knights back towards the Lannister lines. As she'd feared the Westermen had not been prepared for the ferocity and discipline of the Uruk-Hai, nor for the preparations Saruman had made for their arrival.

 _They must learn that we are not fighting lesser orcs, these are Uruk-Hai! As smart as men and as savage as goblins._ She turned her head to look back at the river-fort as much as she could in the bulky helmet, _they will defend that crossing to the end, it could cost thousands of lives to take it…_ She sighed and looked forward again, most of the knights were slowing their horses to a trot and heading to their own camps where their squires would tend to their armor and horses.

She took a moment to marvel at the siege engines as they entered the camp. The wooden monstrosities stood as high as four men standing on one another's shoulders, and they were capable of throwing massive stones across the plains of battle. She had heard that in Gondor they had similar war machines on the walls of Minas Tirith, by all accounts even larger than these, but it was still an impressive thing to see such devices erected so quickly.

The men who operated them had ceased lobbing missiles at the walls of Orthanc, and were now huddled around the gold armored figure of Jaime Lannister.

"There're plenty of large stones in these hills Ser Jaime," one of the engineers explained, "our biggest obstacle is the time it takes to gather them." The man pointed to the fortress of Orthanc, "It's a damn fine wall, almost like one of Brann the Builder's castles, but I'm confident we can smash an opening in it if we keep at it."

Jaime Lannister seemed to think a moment, "Begin working on the wall as soon as you have enough rocks for a sustained bombardment," he said, "In the meantime load the trebuchets with shit and offal. I'll pay one hundred gold dragons to any of your crews that can muddy the wizard's robes."

At first Eowyn thought he was joking, but as the siege engineers nodded and began discussing it amongst themselves she realized the order was serious. Beneath the helmet her face wrinkled in disgust, though a part of her understood the use of such a tactic. Filth spread disease and hurt morale, she didn't know if Uruk-Hai even _could_ become sick, but no creature in Middle Earth enjoyed being pelted with refuse.

"We'll let you know when we're ready to hit the wall," the sapper said. He grinned wildly, revealing browned and missing teeth, "I'll be sure to let the boys know about that little bounty."

 _Juvenile,_ she thought to herself, but the thought of a bucket of horse manure crashing down on the white wizard's pristine robes still made her smile.

She continued on to another part of the camp, far from the trebuchets and lines of armored and waiting men, where knights and lords wore simple leathers and gathered around tents to rest and ready themselves for battle. She had found herself camping with men from the Crag under Lord Westerling. She had given them the name Ser Gerald Hill, and had been lucky enough not to have it questioned. It wasn't the largest or best equipped house levy in the army, but they seemed friendly enough and from what she had heard Westerling had been one of the lords who had followed Eomer during the goblin attack on Lannisport.

She tied her horse with the others and began walking toward her tent. She had hoped to take the helmet off for a few minutes, if only to breathe freely. She doubted that most in the Westerlands would recognize her face, but there were no women in this army and she would be found out quickly if any saw her face. At first she'd worried it would be difficult to keep her secret, but in such a large army a single "man" was able to come and go without arousing suspicion. She ate her meals in private, and when the time came to relieve and bathe herself she would wander far from the rest of the camp.

"Ser Hill!" a deep voice called, she turned to see Lord Westerling, sitting amongst a group of other men from the Crag, a roasted turkey leg in hand, "I'm glad to see you," he gestured for her to join the small circle, "I've been meaning to have a word…"

 _Does he know?_ She thought in a panic, but she forced herself to be calm _, no, if he suspected anything he would go straight to Ser Jaime_. She cautiously walked to the small group of men and sat one of the large logs they'd dragged from somewhere to serve as makeshift seating.

"I am at your service my lord," she said in the deepest voice she could muster.

"Well no, you aren't." Westerling said, "That's actually what I wanted to talk about, Ser Hill, do you _have_ a liege lord?"

"No my lord," she replied.

"A hedge knight then," Westerling mused, "You know, it's become something of a game between my retainers and I to try to guess your true identity." The men around him laughed, Eowyn said nothing. "That horse you're riding is far too fine a beast for the average hedge knight to afford, and the armor you're wearing isn't that of a rich man."

"I make do with what I have," she replied simply.

"I know why you don't take that helmet off," the man to Westerling's right said with a small grin, "It's to hide the burns, isn't it _Sandor Clegane!?_ " the man said it as though he'd just made some grand revelation, but Lord Westerling only rolled his eyes and some of the other men laughed.

"If that's Sandor Clegane he's lost quite a bit of weight since I last saw him," another man said, "height too."

Westerling regarded her a moment, "No, this is someone with a flair for the dramatic." He gestured at the helmet with the half eaten turkey leg, "Young probably, thinks he's making some kind of point by never showing his face. It's happening all over, boys who barely need to shave are taking vows of silence or oaths to personally kill Sauron," he chuckled, and his men joined with him. "Gods know I would have probably done something foolish if I had come of age in the days of The Arrival." He ripped the last bit of meat from the turkey leg and tossed the bone into a bucket filled with other scraps and refuse. "So why _are_ you keeping your face hidden Ser Hill?"

"M-Modesty," she said, thinking quickly, "And humility, so that I can win win glory for…" she was about to say "the gods," but then she realized that aside from Tyrion Lannister's many blasphemous remarks she didn't know anything about the gods worshipped in the Westerlands, "The realm!" she said quickly, "The realm and the king!"

"The realm and the king?" Westerling repeated dubiously, "Fine, win them glory then, but have you thought about your own future?"

Behind the steel faceguard she furrowed her brow, "I am afraid I don't understand…"

"What I am saying Ser Hill is that I think you should join my household as a sworn sword," Lord Westerling explained, "The men say you're an able rider and lancer, and you seem to get along with everyone well enough."

 _He wants me to swear allegiance to him?_ She thought the proposition over for a moment, _he would probably provide me with a new shield at the least…_

Their conversation was interrupted by the shouts of a group of men walking through the camp. Most of them were clad in simple clothing and looked to be peasant levys, but at their head was a man in shining blue tinted armor. He brought the group to a stop near Westerling's gathering.

"By order of Ser Jaime we are gathering refuse for the siege engines," the man drawled. Eowyn could tell the man thought the task beneath him, and that he was embarrassed to have other knights seeing him carry it out.

"Collecting garbage Ser Steffon?" Westerling asked in an amused tone, "I see that Jaime Lannister took note of your heroism during our approach on Orthanc."

The young man blushed, when the Uruk-Hai had harassed the army Ser Steffon Swyft had led the Cornwall men in the initial charge. Not only had they borne the brunt of the enemy's terrible weapons, but they had angered Jaime Lannister by attacking without his orders, and now the Swyft men had been assigned a number of unpleasant duties around the camp.

"T-That is enough!" Swyft shouted, "I will not stand here and be mocked by a house so poor that it must melt down pots and pans to forge breastplates!" he glared at the men around Lord Westerling, "There isn't a man among you worthy of wearing a true knight's armor!"

Now Westerling was growing angry too, "It is one thing to mock me boy, turnabout is fair play after all, but saying such things about my sworn men is a step too far!"

"Is it?" Swyft sneered, "Like attracts like, poor men for a poor lord!" His gaze drifted to Eowyn, but rather than saying anything else he just shook his head and chuckled.

She frowned, _this is fine enough armor for any warrior,_ she thought defensively, _just because it isn't some fanciful color and adorned with trinkets-_ she stopped herself, _No, this doesn't matter._ She resisted the urge to offer some retort to the arrogant young knight.

One of the men sitting to the right of Lord Westerling stood up suddenly and drew his sword, "I'll not let you speak of my lord and I like this!" he said, "See to your duties or draw your sword!"

Steffon Swyft grinned and the men behind him carrying refuse buckets shot one another worried expressions. Swyft's hand went to his scabbard, but he paused before drawing it.

"No," he said with a sigh, "You are right, I have much to do. The day is long yet, and there may be another attack before sundown." He gestured to the rubbish bucket sitting next to Lord Westerling and one of the men scurried forward, as if afraid the men-at-arms would cut _him_ down for his liege's insult, and quickly grabbed it.

"Sieges are long Swyft," Westerling called out as the other man was about to leave, "and dull. If you wish to test the skill of my sworn men return to my camp at sunset, when your tasks have been seen to."

"Lances," The knight said without hesitation, "Lord Serrett's men were building a mock tourney pitch when I went to collect from them, I'm sure they'd enjoy a bit of sport."

"At dusk then," Westerling said angrily. Ser Swyft only gave a smug smile before leading his men away through the rows of tents.

"So who will it be?" Westerling asked, turning back to face them. He nodded at the young man who had drawn his sword, "Lenard?"

The man sighed and shook his head, "If he wanted a melee I would m'lord, but I've never so much as placed in a joust, and Swyft is a contender at every tourney he attends."

"Hill!" the lord exclaimed suddenly, startling Eowyn, "It's time to see what you're made of!"

"This is not my fight m'lord," she replied, "I must consider your offer before standing for you in a quarrel."

"You can stand for me tonight without taking any oaths," Westerling said. He smiled, "If nothing else you can win some more fame for the realm."

 _Fools, we are in the midst of a siege and you are squabbling like bored children!_ For a moment she wondered how Eomer had managed to lead these men to victory. _Still, perhaps I could get something out of this…_

"A shield," She said.

"What?" Westerling asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"I lost my shield during the skirmish, I need a new one."

"Done," Westerling said without hesitation, "I'll have a man bring you one before the joust, win and it's yours to keep."

"Agreed," she replied. She dipped her armored form slightly, giving an approximation of a bow, before walking back to her tent.

 _To be a hedge knight in Westeros must be unbearable,_ she thought, _performing these petty tasks in exchange for necessities… Perhaps there is something to be said for being royalty._

As soon as she was inside the tent she unbuckled the helm, though she would have preferred to feel the autumn breeze even the air inside the tent was refreshing enough. She took a long drink of water from her canteen and looked over the helm she had taken from the stores before Eomer's men had come to collect them. If nothing else the men of the Westerlands were skilled smiths, and she knew many of the men of Rohan would be glad to have some of the heavy armor and sharpened steel which the Westerosi seemed to take for granted.

She slowly laid against her bedroll and sighed. She thought about removing her armor, but decided against it. It was difficult to put on the set of plate armor by herself and she knew she wouldn't be able to do it quickly if someone called for "Ser Hill."

 _With armor like this it's no wonder most of these men take a squire._

She rested in her tent for some time, how long exactly she wasn't sure, but eventually she grew restless and donned the helmet again. As she left the tent she noted the sun was growing low in the sky, it would be time for her joust soon.

Judging from the level of the activity in the camp Swyft had been wrong, and rather than attempting another attack Jaime Lannister had opted to entrench his siege. As she walked towards the trebuchets she could hear the wooden groans as the great machines lazily hurled smaller stones and refuse at the fortress in the distance. The feeling of disappointment permeated the camp, and many of the men she passed looked as though they had been promised a grand feast and had found only cold porridge. Fueled by a lust for vengeance and a desire for glory the men of the Westerlands had wanted to storm those walls, instead they had found a much more difficult fight than they had expected.

"Ser Hill," she heard someone call, she turned to see Ser Lenard, one of Westerling's men. He was carrying a shield painted with the six shells on a sand colored field, the sigil of House Westerling. "The shield you were promised," he said, handing it to her. She took it and slid her arm into the enarmes, feeling the heft and balance.

"You have my thanks," she said.

"Lord Serrett is providing tourney lances," Lenard said. He paused a moment, looking embarrassed, "It will be more than just us and the Swyft men watching I think, both my lord and Ser Swyft have been telling everyone who will listen about this." She said nothing, taking her silence for anger the man shifted uncomfortably, "Lord Westerling… he is not a rich man, not for a lord anyway, when he gets around the other noblemen he can get a little… defensive."

"Is he a good lord?" she asked simply.

Ser Lenard shifted uncomfortably, "I don't know if it is my place to say. I have served no others since earning my knighthood, and I am happy with my position. If you mean to ask if you should enter his service I can tell you that you probably won't win glory and riches serving the lord of the Crag, but your needs will be taken care of, and you will find honor and fulfillment." His chest puffed out a little, "You will find that money alone does not buy happiness young Ser."

"Perhaps not," she replied, "but it does buy shields, swords, and armor."

The other man laughed, "True enough." He gestured for her to follow him, "Let us get your horse, I will show you to where Serrett has set up his pitch. I went and inspected it myself, it's hardly as smooth as a tourney pitch would be back home, but there are no stray rocks nor holes at least."

The Serrett men were grouped together on the very edge of the encampment on the far side from the river. They had taken advantage of the extra space to build themselves not only the tourney pitch, but a melee yard and an archery range as well. The latter two were abandoned now, and there was a large crowd waiting near the pitch.

The sun began to turn the orange-gold of twilight as she led her horse closer, causing a number of murmurs as the spectators sized her up.

"Ah!" She heard Lord Westerling's voice, "My champion has arrived!" She saw him make his way through the crowd to her, "Swyft isn't here yet, but I don't think we're lucky enough to have him turn coward now." He glanced about, "A good crowd, I know you value modesty Ser Hill but if you win this joust you will certainly be the talk of the camp."

"Is there nothing else they could be doing?" She asked, _is there nothing else they_ should _be doing._

"Your first siege then?" Westerling chuckled, "A siege is a battle after a fashion, but there's little to do unless there's an attack underway. They say the siege of Storm's End was one long party, Mace Tyrell gained a full stone before it was over…" he scratched his chin a moment, "I don't think it was quite as pleasant for the defenders under Stannis, I heard things got so bad that he knighted a man just for bringing him an onion."

There was a sudden commotion from somewhere in the crowd, and the two of them turned towards it to see men parting as someone approached. Eowyn half expected to see Ser Swyft approaching, but instead the evening light reflected off a set of gold armor as Jaime Lannister appeared, flanked by a pair of red cloaked guards.

"Prince Jaime!" Westerling exclaimed as he approached them, "To what do we owe the honor of your company?"

"Only boredom I'm afraid," Jaime drawled, "I heard you and Swyft had some sort of argument and had decided to settle things with a joust." He eyed Eowyn a moment, and she saw a flash of recognition in his eyes, "Is this the knight standing for you Lord Westerling?"

"Indeed," he replied, "Allow me to introduce Ser Gerald Hill."

"We've met," Jaime said, "though he neglected to give me his name," he grinned a little at Westerling's shocked expression and continued, "Ser Hill saved my life during the skirmish with the Uruk-Hai, but he ran back to the battle before I so much as had a chance to thank him."

Westerling raised an eyebrow, "You saved Jaime Lannister's life and didn't tell anyone?"

"Yes m'lord," she said, deepening her voice as low as it would go. She feared Jaime Lannister would recognize it.

"You really _are_ serious about valuing humility," Westerling muttered.

There was a cheer from another part of the crowd, and from the calls she guessed that Ser Swyft had arrived.

"Excuse me m'lords," she said, "my opponent has arrived." She gripped her horse's reins and led it onto the pitch.

"Give him hell boy!" Westerling shouted.

"Ah there you are," Ser Swyft shouted from across the yard as he led his own horse to position. "I'm sorry you have to suffer for Lord Westerling's arrogance Ser Hill." He smirked, "I would like to offer you some payment to step aside Ser Hill, to let this be between Ser Westerling and I." He waited for Eowyn to respond, and when she didn't he waved for a man waiting in the crowd. The man ran forward with a large burlap bag. In full sight of the crowd he dumped the contents, a series of rusted pots and pans, into the dirt. "I offer a new set of armor, one worthy of you!"

The crowd laughed uproariously, and in spite of herself she felt her anger rising. _I've had enough of this man,_ she decided. In a single motion she stepped into her stirrup and leapt into the saddle. The ease at which she did so quieted some of the crowd, and a few men whispered to one another.

"Present lances!" Lord Serrett shouted, and at his command a squire carried a long blunted tournament lance to Ser Swyft.

 _I have no squire,_ she realized, and for a moment she looked back to Westerling, who gestured frantically and tried to get one of the men to take the lance, but there was a hush among the crowd as Prince Jaime lifted the lance off the rack and walked onto the pitch towards her. It was deathly quiet as he brought her the weapon, the only sound being his footsteps against the soil.

"Good luck," he said as he handed her the lance. He lingered a moment, staring at something near her waist, but before she could ask him what he was looking at he turned to leave.

As Jaime Lannister walked back towards the spectators there was a hushed murmur. In the corner of her eye should see several men exchanging coins with one another, evidently Prince Jaime's act had affected the betting odds.

There was a tense moment as she stared at her opponent across the pitch, her horse pawed the earth nervously, and she tightened her grip on the lance.

She realized she wasn't familiar with the Westerosi tournament customs, though men in Rohan often practiced against one another with blunted lances it was rarely so formal. _When do we ride at one another?_ She wondered.

The question was answered not a second later when Lord Serrett's squire, a pudgy boy with red hair, sounded a small trumpet. Without hesitation Swyft spurred his mount forward, and gritting her teeth she did the same, lowering her lance as she went.

It only took them seconds to reach one another, there was no time for thought or strategy, only instinct and trained habit. She shifted in her saddle ever so slightly just as Swyft's lance was about to make contact with her shield, causing it to glance off to the side, meanwhile her own weapon knocked the corner of the other man's shoulder plate, neither knocking him from the saddle nor breaking her lance.

She took a deep breath as she reached the end of the pitch. Bringing her horse around again she saw that Swyft was doing the same, and without waiting for a cue the two of them spurred their horses down the pitch again.

Again she angled her shield at just the right moment, but this time her lance caught her opponent directly in the middle of his own shield, causing him to fly from his horse and hit the ground with a loud thud.

There was laughing and cheering as the assembled knights looked on, and as she slowed her horse to a trot and dismounted she saw Lord Westerling and his men approaching, Jaime Lannister and his guards only a few paces behind them. Ser Swyft was being helped up as well, and after rubbing his shoulder a moment he took his helmet off and walked towards them as well.

"A fine joust!" Westerling exclaimed, his arms outstretched. For a moment Eowyn thought he was going to hug her, but he collected himself and turned to Swyft, "So Ser Steffon, what say you now?" but the knight only scowled at him.

"Who did you squire for?" Swyft asked angrily, "If you can joust like that then why haven't you been to any tournaments?" He threw his helmet to the ground, "Who _are_ you? Show your face!"

"Ser Swyft," Jaime cut in suddenly, "Show some dignity in defeat."

At the words from the prince Swyft sullenly picked his helmet up, before leaving he paused and seemed to collect himself, "Ser Hill that was a fine joust, I hope to have the pleasure again." With that he walked away, most of his men following him. The rest of the crowd was starting to drift away as well, though a few of the spectating knights were leading their own horses toward the pitch, hoping to get a few jousts of their own in before the sun set.

Jaime Lannister turned back to her, "Ser Hill, I am impressed with your skills. If you would like you are welcome to dine with me tonight in the command tent."

Before she could politely decline Westerling spoke, "He would be honored Prince Jaime!" the man slapped her on the back, causing her to stumble slightly. "Going from an unknown to dining with the Prince in the span of a day! You're writing quite the story for yourself Ser Hill! Come see me later, I have a feeling I will want to hear more of it." With that Westerling left the two of them alone, leading his men back toward their section of the camp.

She noticed suddenly that Jaime Lannister's guards were gone, she didn't know why but it made her uneasy. The prince himself was staring at her, and she shifted uncomfortably.

"You are not much of a talker are you Ser Hill?" Jaime asked.

"No m'lord," she said, struggling to keep her voice deep, "I am a humble man."

Jaime chuckled and he looked at the ground a moment, "You are no man."

Her heart leapt, "I don't-"

"There were a few things that aroused my suspicion, but the most obvious is the sword," he explained, pointing to the weapon resting in her scabbard, "You didn't take one from the weapons that Cerenna collected for Rohan, you kept your own. It looks quite similar to your brother's." In shock she looked down at her side and realized with horror that the guards on the sword were molded into the rearing horse motif common in blades carried by the Royal family of Rohan.

"Damnation!" she swore angrily, not bothering to disguise her voice.

"And if I were still not sure it was you Lady Eowyn that outburst would have given you away," Jaime said. He sighed and glanced around, most of the remaining knights were watching a pair of Silverhill men readying for a joust. "Gods… how did you make it this far without being found out?"

"What will you do now?" she asked quietly.

"I am going to get some dinner," he replied tersely, "Isengard isn't going anywhere tonight, and apparently neither are you." He began walking towards the center of camp, but then paused, looking back at her, "Well? Aren't you coming?"

Unsure of what else to do she sighed and followed him.

 **A/N: In medieval sieges the practice of throwing corpses, feces, and other filth over enemy walls was intended to cause disease. Jaime's efforts are mostly impotent rage at this point, but as Eowyn noted nobody likes being pelted with shit.**

 **Jackalope089 - Robb Stark: No no he's a direwolf not a Warg! stop running!**

 **Red Dead Redeemer - I just had a crazy image of Tywin standing in front of a chalkboard trying to walk Jaime through the whole "use the river" thing and explaining the "Rains" of Castamere.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - Herumor and his men out of Umbar are still alive, the Mouth of Sauron will appear again as well.**

 **Seanbob1 - I decided pretty early on that some of the battles I didn't want to do, or that I wanted to change substantially. Helms Deep is a great battle in both the books and the movies, but it seemed a little implausible that Saruman would be as aggressive with the Lannisters nearby. In the end I just couldn't think of a good way to both make it happen and make it different enough from canon to be interesting.**

 **ATP - There's a fan theory out there that the ent-wives are somewhere in or near the Shire, but I think the hobbits would have noticed them and said something.**

 **Deadblow13 - I don't write the joke chapters that often, but I'll see what I can do.**

 **Ceies - Tyrion and Jaime meeting again will be awkward, but they're both at a point where they're ready for it I think.**

 **Quelathias - Tyrion's next scene will probably be with the Ents, but he'll see Gandalf again too.**

 **Guest - It's a bit late in the story to have new characters showing up. Sansa would probably enjoy Gondor, it's the kingdom out of fairy tales she grew up believing in. Arya would probably prefer Rohan, less formal and no taboo against women learning to use a sword.**


	121. CXV The Hound

**CXV**

 **The Hound**

Clegane and the creature called Gollum trudged through the barren country on the east side of the river, the only sound the clinking of the chain still attached to his prisoner's leg. He could see now why these were called the brown lands, the rolling hills held a few sparse patches of dry yellow grass, but that was the only vegetation he could see, and there was no sign of animal life at all.

Gollum was leading him, stopping every few moments to sniff at the breeze, or to simply close his eyes, as though listening for something. He spoke little, often pointing in a direction rather than saying anything.

During their first night together he'd worried Gollum would attack him in his sleep, he'd tied the chain around his arm and waited with his eyes just slightly open for hours. At some point he had drifted off, but the soft rattle of the chain woke him. He opened his eyes slightly, and spied Gollum's figure selecting a large rock and weighing it in his hand.

 _That little bastard,_ he thought angrily. He wanted until Gollum had crept close, this time managing total silence, before he spoke up.

"Drop it," he muttered, trying his best to make his voice sound more asleep than he truly was.

Gollum froze, "W-We was only-" His speech stuttered to a stop as Clegane stood up, towering over the small creature. Gollum was an unsettling creature to look upon, stray strands of hair and crooked teeth surrounding a pair of unnaturally large eyes, but in spite of all of that Clegane knew his own sneer was far more frightening.

"Don't try that again," he said in a low voice. He reached his hand down to his belt and slowly drew his sword, savoring the look of terror in Gollum's eyes. He held the blade in front of him a moment and slowly dragged the tip across Gollum's cheek, causing a tiny scratch that dribbled a small drop of bright red blood. "Do we have an understanding?" Gollum nodded eagerly, tears welling in his eyes.

He'd slept soundly after that.

His stomach growled loudly. He reached over to the pack on his side and felt around in it. He had a few loaves of lembas bread left, along with some dried jerky. He looked around at the landscape, _even if I had a bow we wouldn't find anything to eat around here,_ he thought miserably.

"Stop," he said, "We're eating."

Gollum glanced back at him and scowled, "he already ate today…"

"And he's going to eat again," he retorted, sitting on a nearby rock. He pulled a piece of bread from his pack and broke a small piece of it off, "Here," he gestured toward Gollum, but the creature recoiled.

"Yech!" Gollum gagged, "it stinks it does!"

Clegane rolled his eyes, "You're no good to me if you pass out from hunger, eat it or I'll shove it down your throat."

Gollum gasped, "No, No! It will _kill_ us to eat it!"

"You're full of shit," he growled, but he reached to the bottom of his pack and withdrew a sausage, "what about this?" Gollum sniffed at it a moment before taking a bite. He chewed it over a moment, making a sour face before swallowing it.

"Better," Gollum rasped, "salty," he gestured to the sausage link, "too salty to eat so much." Gollum looked around at the hills a moment, "He should let us go precious, let us go and hunt for fresh meats."

"You'll just run off," Clegane said, taking a bite out of the Lembas, "and besides, there's nothing around here to hunt anyways."

"Deaf, dumb, and blind precious," Gollum muttered, "Plenty to eat, rats, voles," seeing Clegane's curious expression he grinned, " _crawlers!_ Plenty to eat if the big dumb man looks."

Clegane gripped the chain and pulled, causing Gollum to trip and fall to the ground, "Dumb maybe," he sneered, "but not blind, and certainly not deaf."

Gollum rubbed his leg and muttered angrily, making the _gollum_ noise that was his namesake. He made his way to a nearby patch of dried grass. Without warning he suddenly dug into the cracked soil, lifting clumps of it and holding it up to his nose expectantly. With his other hand he sifted through it, eventually producing a pair of fat white grubs. Before Clegane could say anything Gollum tossed them into his mouth, chewing noisily. Seeing Clegane's disgust Gollum grinned, allowing the chewed bits of insect to be visible.

"Fresh and wriggling," he said as he swallowed, "Should we catch him any?"

"I'll stick with this," Clegane muttered, though suddenly he found his food much harder to chew.

He did not speak to Gollum again that day, and every time the creature gave him a look that wasn't close to pleading subservience he scowled in a way that he knew terrified stableboys and knights alike. The creature was afraid of him, of that much he was sure, but _how_ afraid he wasn't certain.

 _Not afraid enough to be trusted off his leash just yet,_ he thought as he looked down at the chain still clasped around Gollum's ankle. _He does what I say when I say… for now._ A sudden thought occurred to him.

"How do I know you're really bringing me towards them?" he said, tugging the chain slightly.

Gollum looked back at him with an annoyed expression, "Too late to think that precious, if we lied we lied very far back." He scurried forward a moment and very nearly stood upright, "We wants the precious more than _anything._ It is far away, and if we play games with the man it will get _farther_ away." He shuffled ahead again and tugged slightly on the chain, "Let's go!" he exclaimed.

He would've continued to have doubts, but that night as the sunk sank below the horizon the two of them spotted a tiny light in the distance, a fire.

"There," Gollum said, pointing, "hobbitses, or orcs chasing hobbitses maybe…" The fire suddenly winked out.

The sighting of their quarry, or at least something that could have been their quarry, seemed to invigorate them both, and they went in the direction they'd seen the flame for another hour after sunset before stopping. Their enthusiasm didn't last long, when dawn broke there was no sign of them, and the two continued on in silence again. Near silence anyways, the further they went the more Gollum had taken to muttering under his breath. With nothing else to see and no one else to talk to the near whispers began to grate on Clegane.

"Who are you talking to?" he asked finally, tugging the chain and bringing them to a stop.

Gollum glanced back at him curiously, "the Precious…" the way he said it made it sound as though it was the most obvious answer in the world.

"The precious... you mean the Ring don't you?"

"The Precious isn't _just_ a ring," Gollum replied, "but the man knows that doesn't he precious? He's heard you or else he wouldn't be here."

 _That_ discomforted him, "I've heard it," he admitted, "but I didn't listen." The lie cut deep, and he felt an anger rising with him. He very nearly lunged at Gollum, as if to strangle the small creature. He forced himself to be calm, _I won't let it get inside my head again,_ he thought, _Frodo has to carry it, if I take it…_

He remembered the shining armored version of himself he'd seen so long ago in the Barrow Downs, a man strong and virtuous, admired by all. A man who would cut down the wicked and let the meek live in peace, a true knight.

 _But there are no true knights,_ he reminded himself, _and even It can't change that…_

Gollum stopped suddenly and held up a hand, "quiet!" he whispered. His hackles were raised, and he appeared almost like a startled cat. Clegane's hand drifted to his sword and he glanced around, the country was open and desolate enough that he didn't see how anything could have snuck up on them.

"What is it?" he whispered.

Gollum just looked back at him angrily and put a finger to his lips. He looked around frantically, and a moment later he gestured for Clegane to follow him into a small valley between a pair of hills where a deep fissure which might have been a river once cut through the barren landscape.

"Down here," Gollum muttered, slinking down into the shaded hole, "hurry!" the chain clinked as Gollum pulled at it.

Clegane still didn't see or hear anything, but he reluctantly followed Gollum into the crevice. It was deep enough that it came up to his shoulders, and Gollum gestured for him to sit down, concealing them completely. With a sigh he did so.

"Well?" he asked.

"Horses," Gollum said, "many horses, coming soon."

They waited quietly for nearly an hour. Just when Clegane was about to force Gollum to begin moving again he heard the soft sound of hooves hitting the soil. There were rough foreign voices speaking a tongue Clegane did not understand, and he heard the unmistakable clink of metal against metal. There was laughter above, and the men seemed to be in a genial move. A few times footsteps seemed to come close to their hiding place, but no man bothered to check in the dry ravine. Soon they were gone, and after another hour of waiting to be sure Gollum slowly lifted his head above the surface again.

Without saying anything to Clegane he tugged slightly on the chain, taking his lead Clegane crawled out of the ditch and the two of them set on their way again. He stared a moment at the tracks the passing men had left in the dust.

"Hurry!" Gollum exclaimed, "We were slowed, the hobbitses weren't!"

"If those men are looking for them they probably had to hide at least as long as we did," Clegane countered.

"No," Gollum said in an exasperated voice, as though speaking to a child, "The men aren't hunting the hobbitses, they're going to the war."

"The war?" he asked, looking back to the West where the tracks lead. Amid his pursuit of Frodo and Sam he'd almost forgotten about the larger war.

"Men to steal and burn," Gollum continued, "they doesn't care about the Precious, probably doesn't even know about it. Orcses, they are the ones looking for it, orcses and…" he gulped and made that strange sound with his throat again, but said no more.

"A raiding party then," he muttered, "probably hoping to terrorize the people before the main force arrives." He knew such tactics well, his brother had often been chosen for them.

"It doesn't matter," Gollum muttered, "only the Precious matters… if _he_ gets it we can never have it again, no one can ever have it again."

They began walking again, Clegane sighing angrily as he saw how low in the sky the sun had become. Compared to the northern lands these were warm, but the short days of autumn came even without weather or leaves to herald them. They would have to stop again soon, he cursed under his breath.

 _We'll catch them,_ he thought, _we'll catch up to them and I can explain things… make this right._ He glanced at Gollum and then to the eastern horizon, _he can get us in, then we can destroy that thing and be done with this madness!_

 **A/N: Two chapters today, reviews in the next one.**


	122. CXVI The Imp

**CXVI**

 **The Imp**

Tyrion had never enjoyed walking, with his stunted stature it was uncomfortable to go very far and children would stare and mock him when they thought he couldn't hear. Now though he almost felt as though he were going almost too fast even at what should have been a gentle stride, he stumbled a moment over a rock on the path before them.

"Be careful now!" Quickbeam said, "are you sure you would not like me to carry you? Your friend seems to take no offense to it."

On the ent's shoulder Pippin beamed, "Lord Tyrion why should you walk when you've got someone to do the walking for you? A lord should have more sense."

"I've spent too much of my life being carried," he replied, "And I have a feeling there's going to be a lot more walking in my future, I want to get used to it."

Once he'd realized the effect of the Ent-draught he'd considered drinking from the mug until he was as large as Gregor Clegane, but after drinking so much he felt as though he might burst he still hadn't managed to break the five foot mark. Pippin on the other hand _had_ topped five feet, and had been rather smug about it.

"I can't wait to see Merry's face!" he said, grinning, "I'm probably as tall as the Bullroarer!"

The three of them reached a clearing not far from Quickbeam's home, a moment later there was a rustling through the brush as Treebeard brought a line of men towards them. At the front was a stocky knight with a long yellow beard.

"Daven!" he called, waving.

His cousin smiled and sauntered toward him, "It's good to see you alive and in one piece Tyrion," Daven said, "I must admit I feared the worst when a _tree_ said he'd seen you, but I suppose we're all making strange new friends these days." As if on cue Rerir the raven fluttered down from the treetops and perched himself on Daven's shoulder.

"Is that really him?" the bird cawed, "he seems too big to be Lord Tyrion…"

Daven scoffed, "That's ridiculous! He's still-" Daven looked him over a minute, and placed his hand level with Tyrion's head, bringing it to his chest as though trying to measure his height. A confused expression came over his face, "There's something wrong here…"

Alongside Daven's men another group came forward. They were a strange company, the leader was a tall and handsome man, with steely grey eyes that nonetheless glowed with warmth as he saw Pippin. Behind him walked a squat figure with a long beard that Tyrion guessed to be a dwarf, and another, nearly as tall as the first man, with a graceful stride and a face that almost seemed to glow.

 _His ears!_ Tyrion realized, _that's no man! That is an elf!_

The final member of the stranger's company was another hobbit, presumably Pippin's friend Merry. From atop Quickbeam's shoulder Pippin shouted happily and nimbly swung down from his perch, hitting the ground and running toward his friend. The two embraced as their companions looked on, smiling.

"Pippin!" Merry exclaimed suddenly, "Y-you're taller!"

"That's right Merry," Pippin said in a faux-haughty voice as he put his hands on his hips, "I've grown up on this journey… people are going to have to treat me with a great deal more respect."

Merry stared at him a moment, and then before Pippin could react he shoved hard into the other hobbit's side, causing him to stumble and fall. The two struggled on the ground a moment and Merry quickly managed to pin the other hobbit down, his arm pulled behind his back.

"Uncle!" Pippin shouted, "U-Uncle!"

"Bigger or smaller you're still Pippin," Merry said, easing up, "and I can still-" before he could finish Pippin leapt up at him and the two began to scuffle again.

"Enough!" their leader said laughing, "stop or I'll have Gimli flatten the both of you!" The two hobbits grumbled, but separated, standing up and dusting themselves off. The grey eyed man regarded him a moment, "Tyrion Lannister I presume?"

"Yes, and I feel thankful that I am here to welcome you," Tyrion replied, "You have me at a bit of a disadvantage though. What is your name Ser?"

"Aragorn," the man said, "Son of Arathorn."

"Aragorn," he repeated, "You traveled with-" He nearly said "ringbearer" but thought better of it, "You traveled with _him_ … did he escape?"

Tyrion could tell by the other man's expression that he knew what he was really asking, "He is away," the man said, "And safe."

 _Some good news at least._ He looked around a moment and felt an empty feeling fill his chest, "My uncle Kevan and my sister Cersei, they were traveling with you. I saw my uncle wounded during the fight…"

"He didn't make it," Daven said bitterly, "he was dead before we could even reach him."

Tyrion sighed sadly, "I feared as much. What of Cersei?"

"Alive and well," Daven replied, "She stayed to treat the wounded, your men all made it through, but they're hurt." He paused a moment, "Cersei was rather distraught when you were taken, she made me swear to return you alive."

"Truly?" he wasn't sure quite what to make of Cersei, what had happened on her journey to give her the courage to stand against one of the Nazgul? To save him of all people? "I suppose I have a sister after all," he said finally.

"This does an old heart good to see," Treebeard rumbled from above, "Friends and family reuniting… it reminds me of older days." He sighed, "I am afraid we must part ways now. The time has come for me to go to the Entmoot Lord Tyrion."

"Wait!" Tyrion said before he could turn to leave, "Treebeard, I've been thinking… If I could I would like to address this Entmoot."

"Hmmmm…" Treebeard seemed to consider the notion, "It would be a strange thing for a man to speak at an Entmoot… what is it that you would like to say?"

"He wants you to join up with us!" Pippin said suddenly, "You are tall and strong, you Ents. A single one of you killed nearly a dozen orcs! Saruman would have no chance against the likes of you!"

"If only we were as strong as you think we are," Treebeard said in a tired voice, "Stone is strong too, but in time weak and formless water will wear it away. We can fight against Isengard, but we will be worn too, we will fight and die just as you smaller folk do."

"And if you care for anything in this world you will fight regardless," Tyrion said, "just as we smaller folk do." He looked up at Treebeard, meeting the old Ent's eyes, "If Saruman conquers Rohan it will not sate his hunger, he will build more war machines and breed more Uruk-Hai, and he will need fuel for his furnaces." Tyrion gestured around at the trees, "Where do you think he will get it?"

Treebeard frowned, "These are things I know well, though it gives me no pleasure to know them." He stroked his mossy beard, "Sometimes you need to hear a thought in another's voice to truly understand it, and perhaps another still just to be sure… You may come and speak at the Entmoot Lord Tyrion."

"Tyrion are you sure this is wise?" Daven said, "We aren't far from Isengard now, we could contact Lady Eowyn, she'll be encamped nearby I'm sure."

"There isn't time," Tyrion said, "Saruman is expecting his Uruk-Hai to arrive soon, and even if any return they will not have his prize. I do not think he will react in a calm and reasonable fashion, and when powerful men get angry people die. I don't know what power he has, only that he is no mere mortal."

"He speaks the truth," Aragorn said, "A cornered beast is twice as dangerous." His voice wavered a moment, "A wizard can be killed, though not easily…"

"An army of Ents would certainly help," Tyrion said quietly, "Daven, take your men and ride to Isengard. The siege has likely already started, find Jaime or Eowyn and tell them to expect me to arrive with help soon."

"If you're certain," Daven muttered. "Don't get yourself captured again, if I fail your sister a second time I don't know if I will be able to face her again." He turned to Aragorn, "I don't suppose the King of Gondor wants to join me on a little jaunt to Isengard?"

"The king of Gondor?" Tyrion asked before the man could respond, "That's an odd nickname Ser Aragorn."

Aragorn smiled and chuckled, "It is my true title Lord Tyrion. It seems a strange thing to be giving it freely after so many years of hiding."

"The king of Gondor…" Tyrion repeated, "Daven tell me, is this man is suffering from some delusion-"

"It is no delusion, he speaks the truth," the elf said, stepping forward.

"Aye," the dwarf echoed, "if he has a problem it's not that his head is too soft, but that it's too hard!"

Tyrion ignored them, looking to his cousin for a response, for his part Daven sighed, "He had Kevan convinced, and before he died our uncle tried to send word to your father confirming it."

"Well," Tyrion said uncomfortably, "I am pleased to make your acquaintance your grace," he managed a short bow.

"And I yours Lord Tyrion," the king said, bowing his head in return. "I am afraid I must decline Ser Daven, in Isengard I am but one warrior, but in Gondor I might rally my people in this darkest hour. I must return there by the fastest route."

"Go with the Seven's Blessings then," Daven said.

 _The King of Gondor,_ Tyrion thought. _Trusted by Gandalf and the elves to guard the most precious treasure of all… if he was worthy of their trust then perhaps-_

"Aragorn," he said suddenly, "a word of parting advice…" the man raised an eyebrow and he continued, "You will find naught but enemies of Sauron in Gondor, but your enemy's enemy is not always your friend."

"I will remember that," Aragorn said with a nod. He turned to his companions. "What say you? Our Fellowship is broken. You did not swear to follow Aragorn son of Arathorn to his throne, if any of you wish to return home I will not think any less of you."

His four companions, an elf, a dwarf, and two hobbits all looked at one another, "Well _I'm_ going," the dwarf said gruffly, "And I think the elf should come too, we need someone to help carry things after all."

The elf in question smiled, "Why Gimli, if you fear you will grow so tired that I will need to carry you then all you need to do is ask." Rather than getting angry at the remark the dwarf only chuckled.

"We should probably go too," Pippin said, "Farmer Maggot might still be looking for us after all…"

"Agreed," Merry said, "he'd never think to look in Gondor."

"Be careful," Aragorn said, a small smile on his face, "I can't have it said that the King of Gondor is harboring bandits and fugitives from other lands."

"Quickbeam," Treebeard rumbled, "Take them back to their horses," he bent down and stretched his gnarled hand out for Tyrion to step into, "I will take the little Lord Tyrion and go to the Entmoot."

Quickbeam nodded, "Follow me!" he gestured widely and the two groups, Daven's men and the King of Gondor's companions, followed the Ent back the way they had come.

"Farewell Tyrion!" Pippin called.

"Goodbye!" he replied, waving.

"Remember!" Daven called, "Keep yourself safe this time!"

With that they were gone, leaving him alone with the eldest of the Ents. He stepped into Treebeard's waiting hand and gave a start as he was lifted onto the Ent's shoulder. There was the now familiar sound of wood groaning as Treebeard began walking through the forest.

"Where is the Entmoot exactly?" Tyrion asked.

"Deeper in the forest," Treebeard replied, "to the North." A sour expression came over his face, "I'm never sure about going North, seems somehow like I'm going uphill…"

"I only know that it gets colder the farther you go," Tyrion said idly, "So what are Entmoots like? How long will the discussion and deliberation go on?"

"Ahh," Treebeard said, "That is a difficult question to answer, I know that you men are fond of your kings and chiefs who order things, but among the ents each speaks in turn and in equal measure."

 _More like a meeting of the Small Council than a king holding court then,_ he thought, "And will I be heard in equal measure as well?"

"Harrummm…" Treebeard boomed, "I am sure you will find you are given all the time you need to say all you would like to say, we don't like to be hasty after all, but some will find the worth of your words to be greater than others. Some will not like that you are a man, some will not like that you are not a man of the peoples we know, still others might decide they dislike your tone, and there will even be those that find what you have to say _more_ valuable for all of those same reasons."

"That could be said for addressing most groups," he thought aloud, _They won't think ill of me for being a dwarf at least, to them_ all _men are dwarves…_

"You may find that this gathering takes longer than what you are used to," Treebeard warned, "Entish is a slow and careful language, and there are also introductions and news from all corners of the forest to hear, it may be an entire day before we can even speak of Saruman."

"That won't be a problem," Tyrion said, "We Westerosi aren't quite like the men you know. We too are fond of lengthy deliberation and conversation. There were days when our king held court which were consumed almost entirely by men introducing themselves and reading titles, with little else being done."

"Interesting…" Treebeard said, "I can tell by the way you speak of it that you think your own people are sometimes not hasty enough…"

Tyrion shrugged, "Too hasty, not hasty enough, it all depends on the situation. There is a time for talk and a time for action."

"I suppose that is true enough," Treebeard agreed.

 _I only hope I can convince enough of them that this is the latter and not the former,_ he thought as they traveled through Fangorn Forest.

 **A/N: Aragorn's original plan was to split the party, with half of them going to fight in Minas Tirith and the other half going to Mordor. I figured he wouldn't want to involve himself in a siege at this stage so he's going to try to get back on his original road to Gondor.**

 **Bavalos - I must admit I got a sick sense of excitement watching your increasingly panicked reviews regarding Clegane's well-being leading up to the breaking of the Fellowship. Anyways thanks for the extensive feedback! I really enjoyed reading your thoughts and I'm glad you liked the story.**

 **Deadblow13 - Basically Isengard is situated on a river, when Tywin killed the Reynes he diverted a river to their underground fortress which flooded it and drowned them all, this is the "Rains" of Castamere, it's a play on "Reyne." The joke is that Tywin is trying to remind Jaime that there is a river there he could use to live up to the family song. He actually threatens to do something similar to Edmure at Riverrun in the books.**

 **ATP - Well after everything they've seen so far a talking tree isn't too far-fetched.**

 **Seanbob1 - Well he fell for Brienne after all.**

 **Winters Fury - I don't know if I'll do another story after this one, I probably won't right away at least.**

 **Nonameavailable Bis - A lot of people have voiced admiration for Saruman, and it's especially hard to see him when he thinks he's almost won the war.**

 **Weylandcorp4 - When we get back to Mordor the Mouth will show up, I don't think he'll fight a personal duel like in the games, he might be seen leading troops though.**

 **Quelthias - Even in a serious story there's time for humor now and then.**


	123. CXVII The Kingslayer

**CXVII**

 **The Kingslayer**

Eowyn had followed him silently through the camp to the command tent. _What to do about this?_ He thought, _I can't keep her secret, Eomer and the Rohirrim must be told she is here._ For a second he wondered if Westerling had been sheltering her, but decided he probably hadn't been, the man would have let it slip at some point. He glanced over his shoulder at her a moment, the pale blue eyes behind the helm met his, _Well she's here now… it seems pointless to send her away now that the siege is underway, and she would need to travel all the way back to the fords to return to Edoras._

He paused, "You commanded Rohan's armies?"

"Yes," she said, a touch of pride entering her voice, "and I was never defeated in the field."

A part of him recalled something that his father had often repeated, "Defeat doesn't always happen in the field." He started walking again, and she followed.

"That's the sort of thing your brother would say," She said suddenly, "Tyrion, he doesn't have the body for battle but he has the mind for strategy."

"That he does," he said, "I heard that he helped remove some usurper, what was his name?"

"Grima," she replied, "a lord who had been my father's advisor… he would have wed me and declared himself king if not for your brother's plots."

 _Tyrion… the wizard was supposed to take you far away from war and the troubles that come with it,_ he smirked to himself, _then again, perhaps a court full of intrigue and betrayal brought out your better qualities, you were always like father in ways neither of you cared to admit._

They came at last to the command tent in the center of the camp, the pair of guards that had followed him earlier waited outside now. They moved to his side as he approached, eyeing the knight following him suspiciously.

"It's all right," he gestured dismissively as Eowyn tried to follow him into the tent, "He's with me." The two looked at one another a moment before resuming their positions near the entrance. _Redcloaks,_ he thought irritably _._ The personal guards of the Lannister family were good men, and discrete, but he had never liked having them hovering over him.

As he entered the tent he saw that the large dinner table had already been set, a roasted boar had been set at the center, with a thick glaze that reflected the low light. Perhaps a dozen in total would be dining with him, he'd found that awarding knights and lords a seat at his table for a job well done was a useful incentive to keep the camp running smoothly. Forlong was already cutting himself a piece, at his side was a thick shouldered man with bushy sideburns that Jaime recognized as Ser Merlon Crakehall, the youngest of Lord Crakehall's sons.

"It's going to be hard to tell tales of this war without mentioning the Crakehall's Lord Forlong," the young knight said, his mouth already half full of bread, "My father's fleet smashed the Corsairs in the Bay of Belfalas."

"Some say Boromir, Son of Denethor, might have had something to do with that," Forlong replied in an amused tone.

The youngest Crakehall waved dismissively, "Well of course he _helped,_ I never said he didn't!" He took another bite of bread, muffling his words even more, "My brother Tybolt and I, we fought at the battle of Osgiliath too, the two of us charged through the streets on horseback and there wasn't anything that could stop us-"

"Save for the black riders," Jaime said, silencing the boasts as he sat down.

There was silence for a moment, Ser Merlon swallowed the bread with a gulp, "Aye," he admitted, "They were…" he shuddered rather than finishing the thought.

The table grew quiet again, momentarily Jaime recalled his brief duel with the Lord of the Nazgul. He'd retraced his steps a thousand times in his head, and each time he'd come to the same conclusion, _Another few minutes and I would have been dead, either he would have run his blade through my heart or it would have stopped beating of it's own accord._

"Is there a need to talk of such things now?" a voice piped up from the end of the table. As one they all turned to see the hobbit leader, Shirriff Robin Smallburrow, looking into his wineglass and hoping to avoid their looks. "I-I just think that we have enough to worry about without bringing up whatever might be in Mordor…"

"Agreed," Forlong rumbled, "I say we cross the bridges as we come to them."

"Crossing bridges?" called another voice from the end of the table. Jaime turned to see Ser Lambert Turnberry, one of his father's knights who always insisted on wearing an eyepatch over his perfectly functioning eye, "Let's hope they're easier to cross than the one we're working on now!" the joke was dark, but enough to get a chuckle from those gathered. A few men looked his way, trying to judge how he took the comment. He knew from experience that few men dared to joke or jape about anything in his father's presence for fear of offending the Old Lion.

 _I am not my father,_ He allowed a slight chuckle which eased the tension in the room.

"Jaime," Forlong said suddenly, "who is that you've brought with you?"

He turned to see Eowyn still standing awkwardly by the entrance to the tent, her face still obscured by the helm she was wearing. _Seven hells, I didn't realize she couldn't take that off._ He thought a moment about what to do and then sighed, _She won't be here much longer anyways,_ he decided, _there is no need for secrecy._

"My lady," he said, "why not remove the helm and introduce yourself to our guests."

The look she shot him could have cooled a smith's forge, but slowly she reached up and pulled the helmet off, revealing her fair face. The collected knights gasped as she reached up and pulled a short string that had drawn her hair up, allowing it to fall to her shoulders.

"Princess Eowyn of Rohan," She said in a steely tone, "at your service." She walked to Jaime's side, her anger barely contained, and roughly pulled a chair out, plopping down and grabbing the nearest goblet.

"Lady Eowyn," Forlong said uncertainly, "It is good to see you again, but what are you doing here?"

She glared at Jaime again, "I was on a secret mission for my brother."

 _Already saving face,_ he thought with some amusement, "A mission that is now over," he said, meeting her gaze, "She will be returning to her brother's camp as soon as we can find a way for her to do so.

"So this is truly the princess of Rohan then?" Merlon Crakehall mused, "traveling with armies and acting as a spy?"

"It's truly her," She replied before taking a drink of the wine.

"Wait a moment," Turnberry said suddenly, "Prince Jaime, you said you were going to bring the winner of the joust at Serrett's camp to dine with us, is she-"

"She is," he finished, "I witnessed Lady Eowyn unhorse Ser Swyft myself."

Turnberry started chuckling, and it soon spread around the table, "Swyft got his arse handed to him by a woman!" he roared.

Jaime could see Eowyn's face beginning to turn red, he sighed before speaking up, "I've seen you both joust Turnberry, you wouldn't have fared any better against her."

The men stopped laughing, Turnberry seemed embarrassed, "I-I meant no offense of course, it's just that-"

"Intended or not offence was taken Ser Turnberry," Jaime said sternly. The uncertain looks went around the table again, thoughts of his father's war councils again entered his mind. He grinned a little, hoping to bring some warmth back into the room, "But forgiven certainly?" he said, glancing over at Eowyn.

"Certainly," she said, raising her glass slightly.

He could tell from the way she said it that she would have liked nothing more than to show Turnberry how easily she could unhorse him herself. _Angry and impetuous,_ he thought irritably, _and now my problem._ He shot a glance at Furlong, the old man's lips were pursed and Jaime wondered if he was having similar thoughts.

"She's really been to battle you know," Merlon Crakehall spoke up, "My brother Lyle is one of her closest advisors and has ridden at her side many times!"

She frowned, "My closest advisor?"

"Yes," Merlon responded, more to the other knights than to her, "Lyle knew that this would be an important front in the war you see-"

A groan went up around the table, "There's nothing a Crakehall loves more than talking about another Crakehall," Ser Darren Broom laughed, "I'm sure wherever Ser Lyle is he's telling everyone who will listen about how his brother Merlon is leading this army!"

A small smile did appear on lady Eowyn's face at that, "Ser Lyle played a part in freeing Rohan, it might not have been possible without him."

"You see!" Merlon exclaimed, seemingly vindicated, "What house can match house Crakehall in words or deeds?"

That started a lengthy debate among the assembled knights, which quickly became standard dinner conversations. Pleased with the way things were going Jaime allowed himself to lean back and drink some of his wine. After they had eaten they continued to drink and talk, though not about anything of consequence, they would plan the next attack in the morning and they all knew it.

Lady Eowyn tried to join the conversation a few times, but seemed to grow frustrated at the change in the men's tenor when the spoke to her. It was not outright disrespectful exactly, but they avoided the ribald jokes and boasts they kept for one another. It seemed to frustrate her, and she soon stopped.

At the end of the table Shirriff Smallburrow seemed similarly detached. He sat lower than everyone else even while sitting on a large pillow intended to boost him up, and none of the topics of conversation seemed particularly interesting to him.

After perhaps a half hour of such talk the men began to leave, and eventually the last, Ser Turnberry, drunk on a few too many cups of wine, staggered back to his own camp, leaving Jaime, Eowyn, and Forlong alone.

"Well," Forlong sighed, "Now that everyone else is gone is there any chance I might hear the truth of why the princess of Rohan is in our camp?"

"I only just found out myself," Jaime said, turning to her, "Well my lady?"

She stared at them a moment, "This is my fight to finish," she muttered, "sending me away now, when we're on the Wizard's doorstep… it's an injustice!"

He raised an eyebrow, "An injustice?"

"Yes," she said bitterly, "You…" she sighed angrily, "you two wouldn't understand."

"You're searching for glory in battle," Forlong said, "most of the young men who march off to war dream of something similar."

"The young _men,_ " she spat, "but they are told to seek it, _allowed,_ to seek it. What songs will be sung of Eowyn, who chased Saruman back to his lair and then quietly returned to Edoras the moment her brother returned? Who went back to her rightful place at home and away from danger?"

"You are fortunate if missing your place in a few songs is the worst thing you ever suffer" Jaime said in a harsher tone than he'd intended, "Tomorrow we will find a way to return you to your brother on the far side of the river, if we do not take the crossing perhaps we will build a raft."

"They call you the Kingslayer don't they?" Eowyn said suddenly, "Your brother told me once that you cared little for any law of gods or men, that you broke oaths easily. Who are you to look down on me for refusing to accept my station in life?"

He opened his mouth to respond, but realized he didn't have an answer. His face flushed red a moment, but Forlong just looked at him with tired eyes and sighed.

"Lady Eowyn," he said, "You have done much, were it up to me I would allow you to do more, but you must understand that we cannot betray your brother's trust by hiding you within our ranks."

Her shoulders slumped, "Do as you must then," she said in a defeated tone, "I will return to my tent, and again to you in the morning." She turned and slowly made her way out of the tent.

"Should we send some guards after her?" Forlong asked, "To make sure she doesn't disguise herself again?"

"No need," Jaime replied, "She was lucky enough to have it work once when no one was looking for her, but those men who dined with us will talk, and by tomorrow everyone in camp will know that the Princess of Rohan is among us."

"I suppose," Forlong muttered. "It's a strange thing for a woman to yearn for battle so, I don't know if I've ever heard of anything like it. Do you suppose she fights among the men or does she command from the rear?"

"She fights among the men," he said without hesitation, "I saw her in battle myself during our approach, and the way she unhorsed Swyft makes me think she's killed from the saddle before." He thought a moment, "she's no doubt strong for a woman, but even so she'd never match a man for strength, much less an Uruk-Hai."

Forlong stroked his beard, "She's probably fast then, and skilled in swordplay."

"I could best her," he said almost involuntarily. Forlong gave him an amused look and he scowled, "I squired for Sumner Crakehall and he made me spar against his sons. That family gets their growth young, by the time they're fifteen they're nearly as large as a grown man. If I had relied on strength alone they'd have beaten me black and blue every time."

"Stop right there!" a voice came from outside, one of his guards.

"I need to see Prince Jaime right now!" a second voice, Jaime struggled to place it a moment, _The hobbit,_ he realized, _Smallburrow._

He heard another guard laugh, "Go back to your camp you little imp, if you've got something to say to the Prince say it tomorrow."

"I-It can't wait!" Smallburrow said again.

Jaime sighed and walked to the entrance of the tent, he pulled the flap open, "What is going on out here?" he asked.

The guards both straightened their backs, "Prince Jaime," one said, "This… dwarf-"

"We're not dwarves," Smallburrow interrupted, "We-"

"What news do you have Shirriff Smallburrow?" Jaime interrupted.

"A pair of my hunters came back, they say there are wolves in the hills," the hobbit replied, "near the camp."

"Wolves?" Jaime asked, "They won't dare attack a camp this large."

"There are too many to be a pack, a hundred at least, maybe more." The hobbit paused a moment, "They're not normal wolves," he tried to explain, "They're far too big, and they're as smart as any orc. Surely you've seen them by now?"

"I have," Jaime said. He turned to the guards, "Wake everyone you can, tell the sentries to be ready for anything."

The guard glanced at Smallburrow a moment, but then nodded, "Yes M'lord." He gestured to his partner and they went to carry out his orders.

He turned back to Forlong, "We're about to suffer another raid, go to your men."

"And here I'd hoped to get to bed at a reasonable hour," Forlong said as he stood up.

"I'll go to my own," Smallburrow said, "We're on the edge of the camp."

 _And thank the gods for that,_ Jaime thought, "Did you tell your-" He was about to say men, "hobbits to prepare for an attack?"

"Of course I did," Smallburrow said.

"Take them and patrol the west edge of the camp, look for any sign of these wolves," he ordered, "I'll meet you there with reinforcements as soon as I can." He turned and walked towards a large red tent near his own where a detachment of redcloaks would be waiting. As he entered their tent he saw that a number of them were already in their cots, a few others were seated around a table talking. They glanced up as he entered.

"Get your armor on," He ordered, "Arm yourselves." They quickly sprang into action, these were some of his family's best men, and within ten minutes they were ready and standing at attention, their crimson armor reflecting the low torchlight. He nodded, "Come with me," he turned and walked out of the tent, the men lining up behind him.

As they marched through the camp he was pleased to see the flurry of activity as messengers ran from tent to tent, shouting orders. His presence seemed to add to the air of alertness that was spreading through the men, and as they passed knights and smallfolk alike were strapping on swordbelts and gripping spears uncertainly.

He was forced to stop as Lady Eowyn stepped into his path, "What's going on?" she asked. She was still wearing the armor from before, though she had abandoned the helmet. Several men stopped to stare at her, as if questioning if it was really a woman in the middle of the camp, but none for very long, there were other things to do. "There are men saying we're about to come under attack."

"It seems that way," he replied, "stay near Westerling's camp, if it's only a raid it's unlikely they'll make it that far-"

"The last time Saruman attempted a raid you were almost killed," she said, cutting him off, "I will accompany you."

"Absolutely not," he said, "how am I to explain it to your brother if something happens to you?"

"You don't have time to argue with me," she said, "and you can't spare the men you would need to force me away."

He fought the urge to roll his eyes and made a quick gesture with his hand, a group of six men walked forward from the column to form a small semicircle around them.

He smirked a little as he saw her expression become less certain, "I think I _can_ spare the men Lady Eowyn."

She kept eye contact with him as she shifted her stance slightly to her right, "Let me come with you," she said, firmer this time.

 _She's getting ready to evade the guards,_ he thought, _there are six of them she couldn't possibly-_ he realized that Eowyn had balled her hands into fists, _Oh gods, she's going to try to_ _ **fight**_ _them!_

He allowed himself a chuckle, "Fine, we've wasted enough time on this, let's go." He gestured for the men to stand down and began walking. Eowyn seemed to sigh before joining him at the front of the column.

"Thank you," she said quietly after they had gone a few feet.

"Don't make me regret it," he said in return.

As they reached the western edge of the encampment he saw a collection of a few hundred hobbits spread out in a skirmishing formation, arrows nocked and ready on their small bows. Smallburrow was near the front, his sword drawn. Among the hobbits were a few of the men who had come with Smallburrow from some town in the North called "Bree," they were armed with spears and wooden shields and seemed ready, if nervous. Behind them were a number of Westerosi knights and levys, most armored, though at least one man was in his smallclothes, an axe gripped tight in his hand.

"Well where is this attack?" A silver armored knight asked. Jaime recognized Lord Serrett of Silverhill, "I don't hear anything out there!"

"Do you think attackers would announce themselves before conducting a raid Lord Serrett?" He asked as he brought his detachment of redcloaks to a halt. He pointed out into the hills and trees of the Vale of Isengard, "Anything could be out there."

He peered up and down the length of the camp, there were groups of men at attention here and there, and even those that weren't had gathered weapons and shields. _We'll be ready wherever they hit us,_ he thought. Idly he wondered if the Rohirrim camp on the far side of the river would be hit as well, but he pushed it from his mind, _there is enough to worry about over here._ The moon was nearly above them now, waxing and nearly full. Between the lights of the camp and the bright night sky he was confident they would not be taken unawares. _Perhaps they saw that we are ready for them and decided to fall back._

He was pondering what to do when he heard a voice, softly at first, but then growing louder until it was almost as though he were being shouted at from somewhere above him. It was a deep and terrible sound, speaking and ranting in a language he did not understand, he fought to keep himself from clasping his hands over his ears, some of the men around him did.

"It's Saruman!" Eowyn exclaimed angrily as she drew her sword. She looked up into the sky frantically, the way her teeth were bared it was as though she expected the Wizard to drop down from the clouds.

 _Wait,_ he thought, _the clouds?_ He looked up in horror as an inky blackness blotted out the stars, spreading to cover the moon as well. He followed it to the source and realized it emanated out of the tower of Orthanc, where fires still lit each window of the fortress. From the north a cold wind whipped through the camp unexpectedly, causing a number of the torches to go out, leaving them in near darkness.

"Get those lights back!" Jaime shouted, he drew his own sword and in the dark bumped into someone. He blinked his eyes a few times, hoping they would adjust to the darkness faster.

"Seven hells!" someone shouted, looking out into the darkness Jaime gasped as he saw dozens, hundreds, of glowing blood red eyes peering at them. A bloodcurdling howl echoed over the camp as the wolves bolted towards them.

"Aim for the eyes!" Smallburrow shouted, a hundred bowstrings snapped as the arrows arced into the darkness. A few of the approaching pairs of eyes staggered or stopped, but more barked and snarled as they picked up speed, closing the distance between them and the camp.

Jaime's eyes adjusted to the dark just in time to see a massive wolf leap onto one of the hobbits, closing its jaws on one and jerking him back and forth like a ragdoll. He heard a snarl and a bark as a form barreled out of the darkness at him, he dodged it reflexively, bringing Brightroar down on the back of its neck, cutting through to the spine. Another form slammed into him, and before he knew it he was on the ground, a glistening set of teeth opened and darting downward. His hand shot up to its throat, and the jaws snapped shut with a * _click*_ just a hair short of his face.

 _I should have taken the time to get my helm!_ He thought in a panic as he tried to bring his sword up into the beast's side.

Suddenly a spear stabbed into the wolf's side, shoving it off of him and into the dirt. He turned to see Eowyn, her teeth gritted as she pulled the spearhead out and stabbed it again, this time in the throat, causing it to thrash one last time and go still as its lifeblood drained out of it.

He scurried to his feet and looked around, more men with torches were coming now, there was a howl and the wolves began running back into the darkness, the hobbits firing bows after them and a few of the redcloaks trying to chase the stragglers.

He took a deep breath and sheathed his sword, "Where did you get the spear?" he asked.

"From someone who wasn't as lucky," she replied, letting the weapon fall to the ground.

"Prince Jaime!" Robin Smallburrow exclaimed as he ran up to them. There was blood on the tip of his sword, and the sleeve of his shirt was torn, a series of deep scratches bleeding down his arm. "I-I need healers!" he stammered, his face pale, "We might still save a few-"

"I'll send for our maesters at once," Jaime said, as he looked over the carnage. The assault had lasted no more than a few minutes, but dozens of men were dead. Looking off into the hills he spotted a single pair of red eyes still watching them from far away. "You and your hunters saved many lives tonight Shirriff Smallburrow," he said, "I don't want to think about what might have happened if they had caught us unaware."

Smallburrow winced as he sheathed his own sword, there was a bit of a tear in the corner of his eye but Jaime didn't think it was because of the pain, "A dozen, a hundred, too many died either way." He glanced at the tower of Orthanc, "More for _him_ to answer for…"

"Indeed," Jaime agreed. He turned to Eowyn, "We are attacking the crossing tomorrow. You've saved my life from the Wizard's schemes twice now, I think I'll avoid tempting fate and keep you close at hand."

Her eyes widened, "You won't regret this."

"Let's hope not," he muttered. "Get some sleep, you'll need it for tomorrow."

 **A/N: I'm alive! Let's do some questions**

 **Weylandcorp4 - That would be quite a meeting, Tywin's the ultimate "dark" fantasy character and Aragorn is almost his opposite.**

 **Pyromania101 - It's easy to know the ring is bad for you when you're not right near it, it's a lot hard when you're looking at it.**

 **NoNameAvailable Bis - well the Westerlands got hit with the bad parts of middle earth pretty early on, now they're getting some of the good ones.**

 **ATP - Old Man Willow was "entish" but I think you're right, he wasn't an ent. Treebeard noted that some trees are "waking," maybe Willow was one of those.**

 **Quelthias - The whole "duality" thing seemed like a fun comparison to me.**

 **Seanbob1 & Deadblow13 - All right guys I'll try to get a joke chapter to go with the next update. Also Euron is basically working as an underling of the Witch King to bring the war into Southern Gondor. **


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